


Pickers and Grinners, Lovers and Sinners

by callsigns (sparklebitca), clarkward (sparklebitca)



Category: Popslash
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-25
Updated: 2004-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-18 11:58:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/188665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklebitca/pseuds/callsigns, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklebitca/pseuds/clarkward
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Space opera heavily, heavily, HEAVILY inspired by Firefly.  And JC's a sex alien!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pickers and Grinners, Lovers and Sinners

**Author's Note:**

> Written for DWNOGA 2004

"They call him the space cowboy-"

"Who calls me that?" Chris interrupted. Justin shot him a warning look.

"Everyone calls him that, though not to his face," he explained, turning back to the redhead perched on the stool next to him. "Everyone this side of Andromeda, maybe that side too. Tales of his daring exploits-"

"Is it really that daring if you're getting paid, though?"

"-are spread far and wide, from spaceport to stargalley-"

"In galleys? What, while they're eating?"

Chris smiled innocently behind his mug of beer at Justin, who glared. "Space cowboy here doesn't fully appreciate the implications of our notoriety," he continued darkly. "For while our receptions on unincorporated worlds are celebrations of legend, our renegade heroics aren't smiled on quite so kindly by the Confederacy itself."

"So you're outlaws, then." The redhead stifled a yawn behind an elegant, many-ringed hand. "Outlaws are a dime a dozen out here."

"Ah, but outlaws with shiny white hats, are they as common?" Justin rallied valiantly, leaning forward to light the woman's cigarette. Chris rolled his eyes and took a swig of beer. "For you see, we are but poor, misunderstood patriots. We deliver the staples of life to the outworld planets. We risk life, limb and starship on a daily basis. We're the blacklisted of the Confederacy!" Chris choked on his mouthful of bitter, and Justin solicitously thumped him on the back. Hard.

"Very noble of you, I'm sure." The redhead looked around, clearly looking for an escape. Justin's face fell - he was spinning a yarn he only half-disbelieved, after all - and despite the bruises that were sure to be forming between his shoulder-blades, Chris found himself taking pity on the kid. You had to give him credit; he never gave up, even on a lost cause. That determination had been Chris' saving grace on countless occasions.

But daylight was burning, and no staples of life were getting delivered while they sat here and rotted in some podunk space-hog bar. It was high time to get this show on the road. It wouldn't hurt to take a minute to show the kid something about charm, though.

He leaned across the bar, catching the woman's eye as he let his face arrange itself into the artful smile that really was legend across the galaxy - legend with the ladies, anyway. "We're actually about to embark on a mission of some secrecy and priority," he said smoothly, pitching his voice sweet. Worked every time - the redhead blinked, as if she hadn't heard him talking before, or even noticed him, and she straightened up brightly, tossing her hair over her shoulder and recrossing her legs in his direction. "So we'd appreciate you not mentioning our nobility to anyone, say, in a TC uniform. A small favor to beg, no?" He smiled flirtatiously and the woman tittered, twisting coquettishly at one of her diamond rings.

"Oh, the Confederacy never comes here, not to this little backwater world."

"Good to know," Justin muttered, and Chris elbowed him, still grinning dazzlingly. He slid two crisp, freshly-hologrammed credits across the chrome countertop, nodding at the woman's glass of wine.

"For your kind ear," he said, "and your gracious company." He rose from the barstool, flicking Justin on the arm. "Unfortunately, we must take our leave."

"Our duty to the disadvantaged-" Justin began, but Chris flicked him harder and he fell silent, rubbing his arm with a vaguely wounded expression.

"On behalf of my co-pilot and myself, have a lovely evening, and may the starcharts lead you where you most desire to travel." He bowed over the woman's hand with a flourish, pressing a chaste yet fervent kiss to it. He heard Justin groan softly, but paid him no heed. The woman giggled girlishly again, pressing her hand to her reddening cheek when Chris gently released it.

"Now what was the point of that?" Justin whispered furiously, pulling at Chris' elbow as they exited the bar. "Why do you always have to show me up, huh? I could have gotten it!"

"Of course you could have," Chris said agreeably. "But those arms ain't going to get to Lighthead V by themselves, and when we're old and gray, we might not have the reflexes to run that blockade the way it's gonna need to be run."

"First of all, even when I'm a space-hog, provided I live that long, I'll be able to run any blockade they orbit up, just like always," Justin boasted. "And second of all, Lighthead V's gonna cave to the TC before we're old and gray - before I am, anyway, 'cause you already are." He nimbly dodged the flat of Chris' hand in the second before it connected with his ass. "See? Lightning-fast, brain to bone."

"Brain to bone, but that don't account for your tongue. If we played it your way, we'd still be in there, buying her glasses of watered-down wine, instead of halfway to getting our fuel."

"I still could have gotten it," Justin grumbled, but he fell in step beside Chris again.

"You got a thing or two to learn about working the girls, but I'll tell you this, Curly." Chris scrubbed an affectionate hand over Justin's stubbled head. "I sure was charmed. Talking me up all sweet like that."

"Aww, quit it." Justin ducked his head away, but he looked pleased. Chris reached into his pocket.

"Sure was flattering. Tell you what. You haggle over this with Muskrat-" and he dropped the diamond ring into Justin's hand. "-you get a fair decent price, and I'll show you just how flattered I was, back at the ship."

"Like you wouldn't show me anyway." But Justin didn't bother to hide his pleasure, and his smile was so golden-happy, Chris couldn't help but return it. When he dropped his hand to Justin's ass this time, it wasn't to slap, and the way Justin arched back into it - well, that just made Chris all golden-happy too.

********************

"That's the last of it." Joey hauled on the hull chain, securing the cargo hold with a deft twist of the locking mechanism. He'd heard tell of new-fangled ships with AI technology, that plasma-molded cargo holds and provided a buffer shield once you hit hyperspace. He'd need to pull a gig every day for a Vegan year before he could afford one of those puppies, though. 'Till then, he'd just have to make do with his scout cruiser. The Bensonhurst was a little clunky, a little rusted in places, perhaps, but she was a good old ship, and she got him from port to port just fine.

"What the hell was in that last tub?" Steve asked, wiping his brow. "I swear, you pick up more crap with every stop."

"I got a few gadgets for the girls," Joey admitted. His next stop was home, and he was already anticipating the delighted gleam in Kelly's eyes when she saw the auto-chef he had managed to procure for her - at half-cost, no less. Good thing he had swung such a deal on it, because he had gone a little over budget on the tiny Confederate hover-craft for Briahna. The shippers have must have packed both presents in that last cargo tub - who'd have figured a mini-flier would be so heavy? 

"So I guess this is goodbye." Steve pulled Joey into a rough hug, clapping him soundly on the back. "You gonna take a year to get your fat ass back out here again?"

"All depends on how soon you can land me another TC gig. I have to hand it to you boys, you sure know how to throw a party."

"I thought you were gonna drink your fee's worth in champagne last night."

"Hell, you don't turn up your nose at employment perks. And don't think I didn't see you by the punch table all night." Joey pulled back to grin at Steve, who shrugged and tipped him a wink.

"Yeah, well, you know what Dad always says. When the Confederacy proposes-"

"-a Fatone disposes," they finished in unison, laughing. Steve gave Joey a good-natured shove towards the docking ramp.

"Go on, go home to your family already. And when you decide you want a real job-"

"-I'll ask someone to slap me and get me a drink," Joey scoffed.

"See you later, second-rate hack."

"Not if I see you first, government toady." With a final wave to his brother, Joey trotted up the ramp, slapping the retractor button as soon as he hit inside. The Bensonhurst gave a loud creak of protest as it pulled auxiliary equipment back in their slots, and the ship came to life as Joey entered the cockpit and threw himself into the pilot's seat.

The course from TCH, Transplanetary Confederacy Headquarters, to Joey's home world of Vista III had been programmed into the Bensonhurst's navigational matrix for years - this must have been the seventh annual TC Founding Gala that Joey had performed at - so all it took was a few keycode punches and a voice activation to gun the engines and get the drive humming. Joey stayed alert though, watching the viewscreen carefully as the ship lifted out of the port hangar. The TC ran their starports tight as a drum, but you never knew when you might have to shift to manual to avoid some hotshot Academy kid who got his rocks off by buzzing the departure gate. Joey had a few near-misses of that sort under his belt - granted, he had been on the other side of the buzz-by. But that was all a long time ago, back when he had been keeping all kinds of rakish company.

The Bensonhurst breached TCH's orbital field, and Joey sat back with a sigh. There was nothing to it now - barring disaster, it was smooth sailing all the way back to Vista III, four days tops. He could almost picture Briahna's squeals of joy. That mini-hover was top-of-the-line - not that she'd care about that. But she'd zoom over their garden like a little sprite, and Joey could just hear that laughter now. No matter where his gigs took him, no matter what strange worlds he performed on, what exotic sights he saw, he always looked forward to coming home the most. Some day, there'd be a permanent opening for a jack-of-all-trades entertainer on Vista III, and that'd be the day he settled there permanently, able to see his daughter grow up before his eyes, instead of these transmissions he got weekly from Kelly, the recorded sonars of Briahna's babblings, the daily routines of their lives. He missed that everyday stuff, more than he let himself realize.

Damn. Joey swiped at his eyes. No point in getting all misty now. He was heading home, he'd see them soon enough. Hell, maybe he'd go tinker with the flier, see if he couldn't rig the Confederacy logo to flash pink or something. She'd love that. 

He double-checked the autopilot and the course setting more out of habit than out of real concern before heading back down to the cargo hold. The ship could feel claustrophobic at times, but it usually just felt cozy, the perfect size for a one-man operation. He ran his hand over the railing as he took the stairs down two at a time - rusty for sure. He'd have to give her a complete overhaul when he got home, spiff the old girl up for her next TC regulation check. 

Down in the bay, he squinted in consternation - now, which of the damn tubs was the one with the presents? The last one they loaded would be closest to the cargo door - but what the hell? The light was dim, energy-saving bulbs at half-capacity lighting the bay, but in the shadows of the bulkhead, Joey could see that the lid of the furthest tub was ajar, pushed off and toppled halfway to the ground. The damnfool shippers. If that hover-craft was damaged at all-

"Stay back, stay away from me!"

Joey stumbled backwards, startled within an inch of his life as a figure rose suddenly from behind the farthest cargo tub.

"What the hell?"

"I said stay away!" The figure stepped forward, jerky, hesitant steps. As whoever it was emerged into the half-light by the bulkhead, Joey saw that it was a man, tall and thin, with one arm wrapped tightly about himself - and the other outstretched, with an anablaster pointed unsteadily at Joey with one trembling hand.

"Hey, take it easy-" 

"I said stay . . . just stay away . . ." Joey's eyes were locked on the wavering anablaster, but he could hear the choked fear in the man's voice. He slowly, cautiously stretched out a placating hand. 

"Hey now, just calm down." He took a step forward, and the man fell back. "Let's put that down, you don't wanna shoot that."

"You have to . . . you have to . . . " The man hiccupped, tears thickening his voice. The anablaster faltered downwards, and Joey sucked in a breath, but the man brought it up again, shaking wildly. Joey took one easy step forward, slow and deliberate, his hands up and open.

"Let's just put that thing down, and we can talk."

"I have to-" The man's voice broke.

"Whatever it is, it's going to be okay, alright? But you don't wanna do something you're going to regret. And I don't know about you, but I'm sure gonna regret it if you blast a hole in me with that." Joey's steady feet took him closer and closer to the man. "So set it down or give it here, and we'll talk."

Another step, and another, and Joey's hand closed around the danger end of the anablaster. The man bit his lip, and his arm tensed. Joey prepared for a wrestle, if that was what it came to - but the man's face suddenly crumpled and he let go of the blaster, sinking brokenly to his knees, his head bowed in defeat.

Joey flipped the blaster over - just as he had suspected, the safety had been on the whole time. The man had probably never held an anablaster in his life. But a Fatone never took a foolhardy chance, and it was better to play safe than die sorry. 

He turned his attention to the man at his feet. For the first time, he saw that the man was garbed in telltale red and black, and his heart sank. He crouched before the man, his hand still outstretched, and tugged gently on the man's shirt-sleeve. The fabric shifted, and the yellow blazoned embroidery of the TC insignia confirmed Joey's suspicions. 

"Hey," he said softly, patting the man on the arm. "Hey now, easy. I'm not going to hurt you, now that you're not going to hurt me." The man looked up through his shaggy fall of brown curls, and Joey mentally drew in a breath -  _some kind of gorgeous_ , he found himself marveling. Then,  _some kind of terrified_ , he told himself firmly,  _and no wonder_. He'd be terrified too if he had just run away from TCH wearing the signature uniform of the Confederacy Bonded.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he repeated. "Hey. I'm Joey." He stroked his thumb over the man's upper arm. "Who're you?"

The man swallowed once, twice, his lip still trembling, his eyes bright with unshed tears. "I'm . . . I'm JC."

********************

"You're sure that's the man you saw?" Lance tapped his finger on the mug-shot, and the woman's eyes drifted back down towards the table. She reached out to reorient the picture, nodding emphatically.

"Oh yes, that was him. He didn't have that strange beard, but it was definitely him."

"This picture's a few years old," Lance murmured. He watched the light reflect off the multi-dimensional picture, watched Kirkpatrick's grin shift from side to side. He had looked at this hologram so many times, and others just like it, that he felt he had memorized every laugh-line in Kirkpatrick's face, like he had learned every possible interpretation of the light in those dark eyes. Every nuance mocked him, every twinkling smile goaded him. He was close and he knew it, he could taste it.

"And there was a younger man with him," the woman continued, the shrill annoyance of her voice intruding on Lance's reverie. "Just as flattering, the little devil, but not as good at it. I saw right through that child, all that nonsense he was spouting. If the other one hadn't taken an interest, I'm sure my ring would still be on my finger."

"You're not to blame, ma'am," Lance assured her smoothly. "He's wily at his least, and criminal at his most."

"Marshal, tell me, will you recover my ring?" the woman asked anxiously, her hand at her throat in a dramatic gesture. Lance shrugged apologetically, keeping his face sympathetically impassive. If the ring had been sold for fuel, then it could only be in one or two pairs of hands on this backwater of a world - there was a reason the TC kept a low profile in these parts, and why Lance's moles had to burrow so far underground to gain purchase here. But it was ultimately worth it, it always was.

The office of Marshal wasn't always an easy one to fill, but Lance loved his job, and he did it the best he could. He had hundreds of operatives on hundreds of worlds, and each tidbit of information helped strengthen the Confederacy, helped solidify its position as the new Galactic order. 

Lance could remember the first time he had ever heard the TC anthem, the pride swelling in his chest, even as a teenager - which, granted, hadn't been all that long ago. His homeworld had been overtaken by the TC in the generation before his father's, back when the Confederacy was an emerging power, and by the time Lance had been a boy in school, his whole planet had been united and strong, their culture completely colored by the Confederacy's mindset. Lance wasn't stupid, never had been - he knew that there were worlds out there that fought the onset of the rising force. You heard news every day of a new planet that fell, an upstart government that bowed to the Confederacy, and it was that thought that comforted Lance as he slept the dreamless sleep of the lawman in his solitary cruiser, tracking the outlaws across the galaxy. If whole worlds could fall, then surely men would as well.

He had gotten all the useful information he could get out of the woman, he decided. All he had needed was the confirmation that Kirkpatrick had been in here, had set foot on this world. From here, it was a short trail to whatever fuel rat had been available to deal with. And then it would be a day or two, and Lance would have him. He nodded politely to the woman, who was still railing against the indignity of losing her precious gemstone - he didn't feel it necessary to tell her that had Kirkpatrick felt in the mood, he probably could have taken her for all she was worth, with a smile and a nod and all of her blessings.

It wasn't that Chris Kirkpatrick was the most wanted pirate in the outer Arms, or the most dangerous. Hell, he wasn't even one of the most detrimental racketeers out there. As far as Lance could tell from tracking his career over the last two years, Kirkpatrick made his living in small-scale arms deals and medical supplying to the outworlds - a fly buzzing around the ears of the Confederacy, a gnat to be swatted at the military's convenience. They had had him in their far-reaching clutches once - a cocky, lucky general had grabbed him up in a vast sweep of some distant lunar colony; they had processed and jailed him without even realizing who he was - but he had escaped from the work detail before he pinged the radar, and had continued on his merry way, raiding the vestiges of abandoned TC warships, plumbing the arms markets to a horrifying degree, always dancing on the edge of becoming Most Wanted - but never quite getting to that status. He had sloped upwards on the charts since acquiring his apprentice, the erstwhile Timberlake, who Lance actually remembered from the Academy, one or two years behind him - furiously talented at the pilot sims, blindingly brilliant at tactical maneuvers, stumblingly foolish in temperament. Well. Just look who he had chosen to keep company with. Not that Lance was interested in Justin Timberlake, not as more than a side fact to the quarry. Pieces to a puzzle, steps in a dance, and Lance would master it eventually.

Outside the cool afternoon shade of the bar, the sun beat down hot and relentless on the dusty road. Lance trudged dutifully down the beaten track, heading towards the inevitable, the fuel rat tent-town. He missed the confines of his ship already, the clean, stark lines of steel and plutonium. The life of a Marshal could be lonely indeed, if one so preferred - the rank afforded the privilege to dictate the course of your career, and by the time Lance had graduated from the military branch of the Academy, he had already decided that he would dedicate himself to the job that so many others of his rank considered thankless, hunting and tracking the black market miscreants. Lance couldn't think of a worse offense than biting the hand that fed you, and that's exactly what these scoundrels insisted on doing. Kirkpatrick, for example - Confederacy-raised, Academy-trained, and what did he do as soon as he was of age? Throw it all away for a lark and a song and a handful of counterfeited credits. The man was clearly smart, attractive, beguiling - Lance didn't see why he had chosen the path he had followed. Maybe when he finally caught him, he would ask.

He neared the tent city, and pondered his choices. If his memory and his informants served him correctly, there were but a few viable possibilities, and with only a minute of consideration, Lance headed towards the most likely of them, over on the edge of the city by the riverbed. That's where Kirkpatrick would have gone, and if anyone would be able to ferret out the next stop on his trail, it would be his fuel rat. Lance intended to be on the same planet as Kirkpatrick by next nightfall, and Lance always lived by his intentions.

********************

"So what should we do with these?" Joey prodded a toe at the puddle of clothes - red and black, the colors of the Bonded. He had always hated Bonding; it was a mighty unfair practice, in his opinion, because it was all up to the Bonder to decide when to let the Bonded go. If you were lucky, he had heard, your Bonder considered your debt paid in full at the end of the regular seven years. But there were those who enforced the Bonds for months, years, even decades past the time of indenturement. Joey thought maybe he would rather kill himself than accept a Bond, no matter how big a forfeit he racked up.

"Burn them," JC suggested dully, hunching into the shirt Joey had given him, the white folds enveloping his thin body. His hands were tucked up inside the sleeves, and his arms still shook a bit, like they wanted nothing more than to wrap around his body and hang on for dear life. "I'll die before I wear them again."

Joey's respect for the man, which had been slowly ratcheting higher for the last hour, took another upwards bound. "You can't ever go back there now," he reminded JC gently. "The punishment for runners is triple-fold your original debt, and if you really assaulted the TC Guard on your world-"

"I know what the punishment is," JC interrupted, his voice low and dark. "I knew what it was for assaulting the Guard, I knew the crime debt I was going to get if I got caught. I didn't have a choice, I told you that. And I couldn't-" he repressed a shiver, and Joey frowned. "I couldn't stay there any longer."

"Yeah, so I gather. And I'm impressed. I haven't heard of many Bonded trying to run, and I've never heard of one actually escaping before."

"I don’t know why not, seemed to be easy enough to sneak off in your ship," JC retorted, and immediately looked abashed. Joey felt a rush of pity, but his respect kept growing - they hadn't broken the man's spirit, at least, whatever else they may have seen fit to break.

He was suddenly curious, and couldn't contain himself. "What did your Bonder do to you? Why did you run?"

JC bit his lip, looking down at the floor. He muttered something under his breath, and Joey leaned forward. JC looked back up, his cheeks a furious red, his eyes glinting stubbornly. "She took  _advantage_  of me," he repeated louder, "and I don't care what the law says, you shouldn't use the Bond that way."

"What, like . . .  _advantage_  advantage?"

JC's cheeks looked like they were on fire, they were so brilliantly crimson. "It was bearable. Only just. I don't . . . I don't usually . . . "

"Okay, okay," Joey hastened. "You don't have to say if you don't want."

"No, it's just - it was really - I'm part Parilipath." Joey's face must have looked as blank as his mind was. "You know . . . Parilipath." JC made an abstract gesture with his hand, and comprehension dawned.

"One of those sex aliens? You serious?"

"We're not sex aliens," JC said, a touch indignantly. "We're descended from the cross-breed of genetically modified empaths and the Terrestrial pleasure clans of the Lyra stellar cluster. And I'm only  _part_  Parilipath. On my mother's side."

"But you can do the whole thing? The whole sensory thing?"

JC nodded, the blush still staining his face, but with a faint touch of pride in the set of his jaw. "The whole thing. Like, see . . ." he reached out and caught Joey's wrist in his long-fingered hand, turning it so that his thumb rested in the hollow of Joey's pulse. He closed his eyes, his tongue darting out to lick at his lips, and Joey found himself staring again, because Parilipath or no, he was one pretty son-of-a-bitch. JC opened his eyes, a little half-smile dancing at the corners of his mouth. "Oh, I wouldn't have thought it."

"What?"

"You don't seem like the type at  _all_. But I guess I should know better than to judge a book by its . . . cover . . . " JC released Joey's wrist and swept his hand up to Joey's chest, lingering briefly for a moment before plucking sharply at one of Joey's nipples through his shirt. Joey gasped, wrenching away, but not before the familiar twist of pleasure warmed his gut. He stared at JC.

"I don't tell . . . my wife's the only . . . ."

JC shrugged, the ghost of a smile still crinkling his eyes. "Told you. Parilipath. Partly."

"And your Bonder . . ." Joey felt repulsed. The very idea of that kind of abuse made his skin crawl.

"No, no, she didn't know. But if I don't want to do whatever it is I'm doing, it's . . . unpleasant." A shadow passed over JC's face briefly. "Like I said, it was bearable. But she told me last week that she was planning on selling my Bond, and word is that the Viscarrian Consulate's looking for a new addition to his personal staff."

Joey had heard horror stories of the Viscarrian Consulate from Steve - the ambassador was supposedly a ruthless statesman, and was rumored to be just as merciless to his playthings. He dealt in human and non-human trades to mediate his legislature; knee-deep in Bonded, and the diplomacy of the TC turned a blind eye to the whole affair.

"I figured if I was going to run, the Gala would be the time to do it," JC continued. "There'd be lots of offworld traffic coming in and out, lots of opportunities for me to slip under the radar - I doubt my Bonder even knows I'm gone yet." He sniffed contemptuously. "She was drunk by the first evening, and she probably won't wake up 'till the next Senate roll-call."

"You were lucky you got onto my ship," Joey told him bluntly. "That was a hell of a risk you took. Any normal TC citizen would be on the fatline to the authorities as soon as they got that anablaster away from you. Hell, any  _normal_  citizen would have blasted you where you stood."

"I was willing to risk it. And I'm grateful to you." JC's hand drifted back up to Joey's shoulder, landing lightly and squeezing. "Very grateful. I'm willing to repay you." His palm smoothed upwards, silken and curling around the back of Joey's neck, the tips of his fingers ruffling into Joey's hair. Joey closed his eyes as he felt the wave of warmth hit him again - Kelly was an understanding kind of woman; if she could see the lithe, lean muscles of JC's body and the promising heat in his eyes - but he stepped away, shaking his head and smiling with only the hint of regret, to his credit.

"There's no need for that. I'm glad to help you, and you don't need to repay me."

"Are you sure? I wouldn't mind. Not at all."

"I'm sure," Joey said. "I appreciate the offer, and I'll tell you, I'm sore tempted -"

JC drew a finger back down the length of Joey's arm. "You're a good man." 

"Not so good that I'm not worried about my own skin. They'll be looking for you eventually, and they can't find you here." Joey rubbed an embarrassed hand over the back of his neck, where he could still feel the tingle of JC's touch. "No offense meant, of course, but I've got a family to think about, and I can't run afoul of the law, not anymore."

"You can put me down anywhere, I can find my way."

"No, I've got a better idea." A plan had been half-forming in Joey's mind from the minute JC had begun explaining his story, and now it was crystallizing. He'd be a few days delayed from his return to Vista III, but JC had pricked that wellspring of pity within him, and he'd be damned if he'd let the TC get their hooks in him again. "I can't guarantee your safety anywhere, but I know this guy - an old friend from my Academy days - and I think maybe he's just the man we want to get on the fatline."

********************

Justin wiped his hands on his trousers briskly - then thought the better of it, a minute too late, as usual. Now there'd be grease stains all over his best pants, and no chance to wash until their next stop at a TC-affiliated planet. Oh well, he thought ruefully, he guessed that was what he got for wearing his best pants on a silly arms drop. It was silly, really, because although the hip-hugging fit of the heavy dark-blue material molded to his person perfectly, it wasn't like Chris didn't already appreciate those hidden attributes. Not that Justin kept them all that hidden. But it didn’t hurt to appeal to Chris' baser nature every once in a while. 

With the last of the crates handed over to their purchasers, Justin set about collecting the fee. It was a smooth enough transaction - Chris tended to deal with people he respected, and that always made business all the easier. The sweaty fistfuls of credits he had been expecting to see when he had first accompanied Chris on a drop had turned out to be neat packets, pre-sorted by value and currency, efficient as the blank-faced, cordial men and women who handed them over. Justin had come to expect nothing less, and he wasn't disappointed this time - he counted the fee with a sharp fan of his fingers and a sharper glance of his eye, and a hearty handshake later, he was on his way back to the small spaceport outside town.

It had taken a full year for Chris to finally see fit to let Justin make a drop by himself. "I brought you on board for two reasons, and your fancy way of out-maneuvering the Confederacy's the other one," he’d said indulgently, running a hand up the length of Justin's thigh to dally in the groove of his hip, before bringing his hand up to ruffle Justin's hair. "But I guess if you really want to learn the business side of things, it wouldn't hurt to take you on a few ground runs. You any good with figures, Curly?" Justin had shaved the curls off a few months after that, once Chris made good on his promise. It wouldn't do to be too recognizable now, and nothing stood out like a mass of gold on your head. Better the gold in his pocket, and endure Chris' long-suffering sighs when he brought out the razor these days.

Chris had been planning on going along on this drop - four crates of gravguns didn't just deliver themselves, after all - but just as they had loaded up the auto-tram, the fatline had started blinking. Chris had taken one look at the origination code and had waved Justin on by himself, pulling down the privacy screen as Justin had left the ship. Justin wasn't sweating it, though. If it was serious, Chris would share, and probably ask for Justin's advice while he was at it. Might not take the advice, but hey, he was the captain.

Back at the port, and he was prepared to listen to whatever new crisis had arisen. It was the life of a renegade, he reflected cheerfully as he keyed the entry code to the ship. Call it dangerous, call it criminal, call it career suicide and maybe suicide for real as well, but Justin had yet to regret leaving the confines of the Academy and the dreary future it had outlined for him. That kind of bleak safety was all fine and well for some, but he preferred knowing he was alive while he was living. He jogged up the docking ramp, his fingers tapping at the thick sheaf of credits in his pocket. He was willing to bet whatever had creased Chris' face in worry would meet its match when he handed over the fee - minus his commission, of course.

The privacy screen was gone, but when Justin entered the tiny common space, Chris' face was still shuttered in thought. He looked up absently. "How'd it go?"

"How does it ever? I could run this whole operation single-handedly." Justin dug out the fee and passed it to Chris. "Andras sends his greetings, and hopes you'll see your way clear to pass by again before the year is out. Q-cannons next time, if you can manage any. He'll be in touch."

Chris nodded, rifling through the money automatically, not even glancing down at it. Justin raised an eyebrow. "Hey. Something on your mind?"

"You could say that."

"I thought I just did." Justin pulled up a chair, swinging it around and straddling it backwards. "Who was on the fatline?"

"An old friend." Chris scratched at his goatee. "I might have mentioned him to you once or twice, maybe - Fatone?"

"Joey Fatone?" Justin frowned. "The guy who used to run uranium with you?"

"He's been out of the trade for a long time, but yeah, he's the one." Chris scratched again, and Justin fought the urge to pull his hand away. "Seems he's getting back into it, or thinking about it. Something."

"Oh yeah? What, he wants to jump ship with us?"

"I don't think so. He wouldn't really say."

"Does he know our line-"

"He knows."

Justin frowned again. Their fatline connection was on a pirate band, and Chris had paid a lot of money to ensure its iron-tight security. If this Joey didn't feel safe talking on it . . . well, Justin didn't really know what that might mean. Any one of dozens of possibilities, and Chris would be racing through them faster than Justin could give name to them all.

"So what's he got his hands on?"

"Do you ever listen, kid?" Chris shook his head, exasperated but smiling, and Justin felt himself relax. "I said he wouldn't say. Wants to rendezvous, tell me in person."

"He's coming here?"

"We're out for Centauri next-" Justin remembered, a pick-up of med units bound for another group of outworld rebels "-and he's coming from TCH sector, so he's just a day away. I figured this would be quicker for both of us, if whatever he's holding needs to go and be gone. Not the time for one of your free-space docks."

Justin shrugged. "If you say so. My last free dock-"

"-Was a masterful piece of work," Chris finished for him. "I know, I know, you're an artist."

"Oh, well," Justin demurred. Chris rolled his eyes.

"Spare me, Curly. You're a genius and you know it. But what I'd like to know is, how's Andras' situation? Did he say anything more about those q-cannons, how many he's looking for?"

Justin grinned. Back to business and thinking ahead to the job after next, that was his captain. Chris was never one to sit still and wait for circumstances to settle around him. He'd grab the galaxy and bend it to his desire, if he could, simply to save the time. 

********************

Lance awoke when the auto-pilot bleeped politely at him, alerting him to his arrival to the Lighthead orbital field. He had fallen asleep at the console again, and now he had a crick in his neck. The bunk was comfortable enough, but he found that lately, he was sleeping there less and less. He had always thought that "the thrill of the chase" was a silly phrase used by those didn't know any better - the chase was methodical, from one clue to another, a logical progression of moves and countermoves - but he was suddenly filled with an electric anticipation. He was so close.

The scuzzy little Muskrat had folded, as Lance had known he would. There was no true loyalty among the riffraff of the outworld, he thought contemptuously as he plotted his landing course. They were always so eager to sell each other out, and all they cared for was their own hides. It was a lawless culture, and one Lance was satisfied to stamp out. The protocol for wresting information from low-rung nuisances like fuel rats was first to bribe and then to question, in whatever increments of force the presiding Officer felt necessary. But Lance had wanted to move on, to leave the hot, dusty little world that grimed his uniform and reddened his skin. So he had skipped right to the force - and what of it? He was his own master, accountable only to the High Marshal, who was so pleased with his efforts, he had afforded Lance the most autonomy of any Officer in the field. It was that autonomy that had allowed Lance to wring Kirkpatrick's destination from the fuel rat quickly and efficiently, with a twist of the elbow behind the back and a well-placed knee to the kidneys. Lance didn't like soiling his hands, but sometimes, speed and duty took precedence.

He stretched his arms, pulling on them gently to release the tensed muscles, then cracked his fingers carefully. He felt a little jittery, which was odd. He was the steadiest person he knew, and he had yet to choke in the face of a capture. Most Marshals his age - granted, most Academy graduates who aspired to the rank didn't hit it until after thirty - but most Marshals around his age had between forty and sixty captures. Lance had over a hundred captures, but he was nowhere near as pleased with his success as the High Marshal was. It all centered on Kirkpatrick, the wily bastard. If Lance could cinch this one, he would finally prove his worth, not to the High Marshal, but to himself.

He didn't understand why Kirkpatrick had eluded capture for so long. He had been close before, tantalizingly close, within minutes, even, and all he could figure was that the reason was that, at his core, Kirkpatrick wanted to be caught. Lance knew this much, like he knew his own name. Kirkpatrick wasn't a bad sort, all things told - all of his illegal endeavors against the Confederacy resulted in good being done somewhere, even if it was rebels. A charismatic talent like that could work wonders for the Confederacy, if Kirkpatrick could be properly rehabilitated. He simply needed to be shown that the TC was a good government, with a good plan for the galaxy. Order and peace were needed, and that's what the TC was striving to provide, every day, on every planet it touched. Lance believed in the Confederacy, and he knew it believed in its citizens. 

He looked over the hologram of Kirkpatrick that rested on the console, as the navigational matrix obediently dictated the landing course on the display. A striking man, with the knowledge of his years sparkling in his eyes and the good humor of his nature reflected in his smile. It would take a good-natured man to smile in the face of the TC Prison Guard's photographer. The reports Lance had read told of Kirkpatrick joking with his fellow inmates and even the guards, in the scant week before he was assigned to work detail. Lance could barely imagine that - joking, in those most dire of circumstances. What a character Kirkpatrick must be, what an irrepressible spirit. And he was a criminal. It boggled the mind, truly it did.

Lance glanced at the display - a good twenty minutes before landing. He would be setting down ship outside of Naxos City; the planet was a rural civilization, with only one city on each major continent, and his ship's tactical advisor had calculated the probability of Naxos as Kirkpatrick's landing point at a reliable 87.4%. The technology the TC provided its Marshals was top of the line - not that Lance would expect anything less - and he had enjoyed near perfect triangulation with his little one-man cutter.

Kirkpatrick's picture grinned at him, cocky and self-sure, and Lance could just imagine it - "Hands up, against the wall," he'd say, and Kirkpatrick would comply, slowly, nonplussed at finally being captured. Lance would pat him down, checking for weapons, and sure enough, there'd be an anablaster concealed in a leg-pocket. "Did you think you could get this past me?" he'd ask, and Kirkpatrick would laugh.

"Didn't think I'd have to get past you at all," he'd say, and Lance would chuckle low in his throat, because Chris Kirkpatrick acknowledging that he'd been gotten the better of? Just about made his millennium. 

"Did you think you could run forever?" he would ask, and Kirkpatrick would hang his head, half-ashamed and half-amused at himself for falling to the youngest Marshal ever.

"I can't go back to prison, I just can't, not to TCH," Kirkpatrick would say, not pleadingly at all, but seriously and matter-of-factly. He would turn to face Lance, shorter by a handsbreadth, but stronger for his will and determination. "You won't make me."

"I won't?" Lance would ask bemusedly, and he'd feel Kirkpatrick's hands come to rest on his hips, firm and knowing, and he would allow it.

"Please, Marshal," Kirkpatrick would whisper. Lance liked the asking of it - it was gentlemanly, it was expected, but it was flavored uniquely, coming from this particular man, and the light of cocksure rebellion would still gleam in Kirkpatrick's merry brown eyes. "Please, Marshal, what I'm doing for the outworld-" and his hands would slip downwards, and Lance would allow it. "They have no hope, and that's all I'm giving them . . ."

Lance closed his eyes, but the picture of Kirkpatrick still grinned smugly at him, brilliant and knowing behind his eyelids. He shifted in the pilot's seat, and shifted again, and then gave in to it, as he had so many countless times before. He eased his hand down, tracing his palm over the outline of his cock through his trousers, hard and insistent. His back arched forward slightly; his hips lifted into his own touch. Kirkpatrick would beg without saying a word, without relinquishing an iota of that bold self-confidence that had gotten him so far, that Lance so admired. 

He hissed slightly, his hand grinding down, creating a sweet, hot friction that was impossible for his body to ignore. Kirkpatrick wasn't the most infamous criminal, or the smartest, or the most attractive. But he was Lance's quarry, and he was within Lance's grasp. The very idea scintillated, sending sparks through Lance's blood. When Kirkpatrick was finally captured? He would submit most unwillingly, and Lance would relish every moment of it.

********************

"Ahoy the sky!" 

Chris looked up at Justin's call, simultaneously hitting the outside view transceiver. Sure enough, a rackety little scout cruiser was hovering down, the red glow of her engines reflecting like a flat ocean of fire off of the pitted landing strip. The ship was an older model, without the inertia dampeners that were so crucial in the kind of landings Chris usually needed to make - it had been awhile since he had seen gear force in full effect, blowing back the trees that loosely circled the spaceport, flattening their branches in radial spirals. He grinned to himself. That was a Fatone landing, through and through.

He left the ship to stand outside with Justin. The kid could barely contain his enthusiasm, and was actually bouncing slightly on his toes as he watched the docking ramp extrude slowly, laboriously, from its slot. Chris supposed he couldn't blame him. Nearly two years of running ship under his belt, and Justin was still coming to terms with the fact that racketeering left precious little time for a social life. It could be a lonely gig, and the danger involved meant it was always better if you came at it with as few prior ties to the world as possible. Justin had recklessly agreed to abandon it all, but Chris knew he sometimes missed the joys of simple conversation, meeting new people when it wasn't a life, death or financial matter.

He hadn't seen Joey face-to-face in over six years, not since they had parted ways amicably after the Desperation II fiasco, where a shipment gone wrong had nearly settled them both in a hangman's noose. Joey's girl back on Vista had put her foot down after that, had said she didn't care about all the finer things in life that the salary of a black market man could bring in, and that had been the end of the partnership. Chris had been a little hurt over the whole affair, although you'd never get him to admit it - well, he had been younger then, and a good sight more foolish. They had kept in touch, and he didn't begrudge Joey his choices now, although they were choices you'd never catch him making. 

The ship's door slid open, and out came Joey, looking exactly - well, not exactly the same. But six years gone, and Chris wasn't surprised to see that his smile was as large and bear-friendly as ever. Chris let out a long whistle, and Joey loped over to them, shaking his head in mock-disbelief.

"Damn, Kirkpatrick, I let you out of my sight for a minute, and you got fat!"

" _I_  got fat? Look at you, you son of a bitch! Since when can men get pregnant, huh?"

"This isn't fat, this is muscle." Joey patted his stomach, and Chris guffawed.

"Yeah, muscles for digestion, which I guess you needed after you ate the entire sector."

"And I guess it's true what they say, assholes shrink with age." They stood grinning at each other for a long second before Joey caved and caught Chris up in a massive hug. "It's good to  _see_  you, you flimsy excuse for a friend."

"You were the one who . . . oof, Joe, watch the ribs . . . the one who left me on Desperation without a penny in my pocket!"

"He told me to go," Joey explained to Justin, still holding Chris a good foot off the ground. "He said if I ever wanted to get out of it, that was the time, and he'd never speak against me for it. Shows you how good his word is, doesn't it?"

"I trust him about as far as you can throw him," Justin said. Joey laughed and set Chris down. They made their own introductions while Chris fussed with his shirt, pretending to straighten it in a huff. He listened to the tone of their interaction - for all of his antics and flippery, Justin could assess people in the blink of an eye, a skill he had honed with Chris' trust in him on arms drops, and an edge in his voice would alert Chris if need be. But Justin stayed warm, and Chris gave a final tug to his shirt, rising with a smile that could probably match Joey's.

"Come inside the port, man," he urged Joey. "Come see my ship; no offense to your success over the years, but I think I've already seen all I want to see of yours." 

Joey's smile faded a bit. "I wish we could take the time, brother. But as I've said, I've got something needs taking care of, and you'll need to come onto the Bensonhurst for it."

"So secretive," Justin joked. "What do you have on there, a shipment of Kratorian rubies or something?" Chris grinned, but Joey didn't.

"Just come inside. You'll see."

Justin looked over at Chris, who shrugged. Whether time and legitimate business had infiltrated Joey's brain, or whether his cargo was seriously sensitive - either way, it looked like they'd be playing by his rules, as layman as they were. 

Up the ramp and onto the ship, and Chris mentally tsked at the condition of the plutonium grating that lined the walls. If this was the ship Joey carted around the reaches of the galaxy, he'd have to remember to give him his mechanic's fatline connection code. This much rust wasn't healthy for any ship. He was about to say so, when Joey halted them at the stairs.

"I was performing at the TC Gala - don't say it, Chris, I know what you think of that party - and when I pulled out of their port . . . well . . . " he turned and headed up the stairs. Justin frowned at Chris, and Chris didn't know what to tell him. He trusted Joey, sure, even after all this time, but he didn't remember his being so circumspect, so careful. Not that he disapproved, from a racketeer's point of view. Anyone who learned from years and experiences was someone who earned Chris' respect, be it new acquaintances, or oldest of friends.

Up into the sleep chamber off the cockpit, and Chris was near jumping with curiosity. What had Joey gotten into? Was it the Praelaxian crystal-phasars that had the TC Military so set on edge? Was it the newly-contraband Thrashlan tobacco, with its curative and highly hallucinogenic properties? Was it the Kratorian rubies Justin had joked about? If so, Chris was fully prepared to shoot Joey over them - friendship only went so far, really, and the price those rubies would set on the offworld market . . . 

Joey hit the door to the common space and crossed the threshold, Chris and Justin close on his heels. Chris knew that Joey had married his girl - he even had a kid, if Chris remembered correctly - and he knew that Joey was running the entertainment circuit these days, which didn't necessarily call for a partner. So he was surprised to see someone sitting cross-legged on the bunk, a man, funnily dressed in a too-large shirt and drooping black trousers that Chris was immediately certain belonged to Joey. The second thing Chris noticed was that he looked out-of-place, not entirely comfortable in the small living area, like he hadn't been there too long. The third thing Chris noticed was the man's beauty, and Chris didn't use that word lightly in his head. There was a sinuous grace to the man's limbs, and a delicate refinement to his features, when he looked up at the door opening. Chris nearly felt his breath catch in his throat, and he heard Justin's do the same - well, he had never credited the kid for being stupid.

"This is JC," Joey said, with only a moment's hesitation in his voice. "He's Bonded, or he was. But he ran, and now he's here, and here he can't stay."

Chris whistled. "Bonded, and he ran?" JC nodded, and Chris tried not to goggle at the lovely fall of curls over the clean line of JC's jaw. He had seen his share of pretty people over the years, but this one came damn close to taking the cake. No wonder Joey had been so cautiously close-mouthed. A Bonded this pretty and escaped would have the TC socialite class in an uproar. It nearly made Chris want to laugh, just imagining the hullabaloo in TCH Capital. 

"This is Chris, and his co-pilot Justin," Joey said. 

"A pleasure to meet you both," JC murmured, looking up, and Chris was struck all over again. His eyes were clear, blue-gray-green with flecks of flashing gold, but it wasn't the color that was so arresting - it was the clear intent, the calm assurance, the self-possessiveness. Chris became aware that Justin was startlingly tense next to him, and suppressed a chuckle. This JC was universally appealing, it seemed.

"He's part Parilipath," Joey added, and JC shot him an annoyed look. Joey shrugged, looking half-embarrassed. "What? They should know the whole story, don't you think?"

"Parilipath, really?" Justin took an eager half-step forward. "I've never met a sex alien before!"

"We're not sex aliens," JC sighed. He explained his ancestry as Justin listened raptly. Chris was listening too, but he was also taking stock of Joey's body language - patient but tense, and clearly wanting to get on with the show. It was amazing to Chris; years apart from the man, and he could still read him like a book, still interpret every nuance, just like it was yesterday, when he and Joey were sharing living space, even a bunk on the odd occasion. He spared a wistful thought for the past - it had all been so much easier then, even though it hadn't always seemed like that. But wasn't that how it always went?

But thinking about the past wasn't going to solve anything in the present. He broke into JC's monologue. "You want us to take him with us?"

Justin glared, like he couldn't believe Chris would have the audacity to interrupt, but quickly smoothed it over into a smile. "We could do that, couldn't we?"

Joey grimaced. "I hate to ask so bluntly, especially after all this time, you know-"

Chris waved a hand. "The number of times you bailed out my ass? Eased me past the Guard with your fronts and all? It's the least I could do." And it'd be the most he could do as well, apparently, judging from the keen light in Justin's eyes. 

"It's just, what with Kelly, what I've got riding. . ." Joey trailed off guiltily, and Chris crossed to him, placing what he hoped was a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Joe, we're sector to sector every week, and it's not like the Confederacy's knocking at our door. You did right in fatlining me, if you want to keep him safe."

"He's a good man."

"And I'll take your word for it." Chris looked at Joey steadily. "I still trust you, Joe. I want you to know that." Joey returned his gaze just as steadily., and Chris felt a rising respect - he had always thought of Joey kindly, but the dissolution of their partnership still smarted, on occasion. It was comforting to realize that Joey had matured into the type of man Chris would still trust.

He was still assessing that steady maturation of Joey's gaze when he heard a bleep - Joey's fatline, he realized, insistently dinging its alert with an unfamiliar transmission pattern. Joey glanced over his shoulder towards the cockpit. "That's Kelly now," he said. "She transmits when she can . . . she was expecting me in a day or two, and I haven't really told her about all this."

"I don't think you need to. What she doesn’t know won't hurt her."

"No, I want to tell her. Our connection's secure enough. She deserves to know what's holding me up." Joey's shoulders straightened and squared, and Chris lifted his hand, releasing him. 

"Go on, then. I'm sure she'll be eager to hear - and hey, give her my best." He'd only met Kelly a few times, and that was years past, but Chris remembered a good-natured smart-ass of a girl, and all of Joey's old stories about her reminded him that he'd liked the idea of her. Joey gave him a grateful look, and headed off towards the cockpit.

Chris turned his attention to Justin and JC, who had apparently been spending all this time staring at each other and smiling. Chris shook his head - Justin was so easily distracted. If JC was really part Parilipath, Chris pitied Justin; it had taken him over a year to admit to Chris his weakness for mild bondage, and that under oath of secrecy, like there was anyone Chris would tell it to. But if JC was truly joining their crew, as it appeared he was going to, then there wouldn't be much in those close confines he wouldn't be able to pick up on. Chris only hoped that the spark of interest could be broadened to include him as well - he'd had exclusive hold on Justin for the past two years, and while he didn't mind someone else laying claim, he certainly didn't want to go unbedded.

"You don't really mind, do you, Chris?" Justin asked, his eyes never leaving JC's face. "I mean, it really isn't a big deal, is it?"

"We're in tight quarters as it is," Chris teased. "I don't know where we'll put him. We've only got the two bunks, after all." Justin's face flushed, and Chris didn't need to go any further to know exactly where the kid's mind was headed. Hell, his mind was headed the exact same place.

"So you're outlaws," JC said, uncrossing his legs and reclining back against the wall, his body all grace and limber muscle. "Joey told me a bit about you, as much as he knows - does this mean you'll want me to be an outlaw as well?"

"Aren't you already?" Chris took a step forward, slinging an arm over Justin's shoulders. Justin was all kinds of tense, and Chris tried not to laugh. The kid was as transparent as a piece of Tryllian amber, and twice as red already. "You don't mind the dangerous life, then?"

"That's all it's been thus far." JC's voice, melodic as it was, had all kinds of darker shades to it. "But you don't want to hear about that."

"We do." Justin crossed to the bunk, kneeling before it. "I do. Where are you from? Why did you run? Why were you Bonded?" He placed a hand on JC's knee. "If you're going to be living with us and traveling with us, if Chris is going to take you on as an apprentice-"

"I don't know about-"

"He doesn't have to be-"

"I was just assuming," Justin finished hurriedly. "I mean, if you're going to be onboard with us, I'm sure Chris'll want you to be useful."

Chris licked his lips, his eyes focused on the perfect lines of Justin's hand on JC's leg, and completely mindful of JC's knowing smile. "Oh, you know what, Curly? I think he's already planning on it."

JC's hand came to rest on Justin's, his thumb stroking easily over the fine-tuned tendons. "I think this'll work out nicely, actually. As long as you don't mind someone who knows everything about you already."

"But that's only if you think about it," Justin protested weakly. "Isn't it?"

"Parilipaths just know." Chris took a step forward, and another step. JC's other hand lifted to stroke over Justin's head, his fingertips lightly tracing the random patterns of stubbled growth, just as Chris did so often. "They don't have to focus, it's part of their mutation. They just know."

"So . . ." Justin shuddered slightly, and Chris felt a little sorry for the kid. He was so cocky in bed, just as cocky as he was about everything else. Maybe the mighty Timberlake had met his match.

"So." JC leaned forward, his eyes lifting to meet Chris', his hand sliding down to cup the back of Justin's neck. "Joey told me about you, Chris, what he knew anyway. He didn't say anything about a co-pilot."

"He's only been jumping ship with me for two years."

"Well, you know I'm Bonded and running, so you're taking on a risk. But you're risk-takers, I see that." His fingers danced along the top of Justin's spine, and Chris simply couldn't look away, not for the life of him. "I'm grateful to you both."

"I think it's Joey we should be thanking," Justin muttered, and Chris suppressed a laugh.

"I think we can thank Joey for a number of reasons." JC curved his hand around Justin's shoulder-blade, feeling the fine sharpness there that Chris knew all too well. "If you're really willing to take me on, I think this'll be a fine arrangement."

Chris watched as JC closed the gap between him and Justin, brushing his mouth gently over Justin's parted lips. Justin's hand clenched convulsively on JC's knee as he leaned into the kiss, helpless and hungry, and Chris felt a familiar twinge in his gut. Justin was exquisite, muscular and graceful, and all his attractions never failed to ignite Chris' senses. JC was beautiful in an entirely different way, just as graceful, but fine-boned and slender, his face sharply angular where Justin's was blunt. The sight of them kissing was overwhelming, their tongues tangling as JC pressed forward, demanding, and Justin giving in to him almost unwillingly, like he couldn't believe what was happening.

"You're lovely," JC murmured against Justin's mouth, and Justin moaned. His hand slid up JC's thigh, up to his waist and around to his back, holding him tightly. Chris bit his lip; this was nearly too much. JC pulled back slightly, lifting his head and catching Chris' eye. "Both of you." Justin turned his head, his eyes wide and unfocused, his lips already deliciously swollen.

"Chris," he tilted his head, beckoning. "Chris."

Well, how was one supposed to resist that? Chris came forward, dropping to his knees, ignoring the twinge in his joints, just behind Justin. He eased his hand under Justin's shirt, sliding over the smooth skin and muscles, until his fingers touched JC's, already clasping Justin's upper back. Their fingers intertwined, and Justin shivered into their touches, his mouth already reclaiming JC's while his hips canted backwards towards Chris. Chris couldn't resist bringing his other hand up to glide over Justin's ass, his palm firm and steady, squeezing and dipping ever so slightly between Justin's thighs.

Justin groaned, JC echoed it, and Chris felt his cock pulse. He inched forward, positioning himself close enough so that if he wanted, Justin could grind backwards. He was pretty sure Justin would want to; he knew Justin, after all. Sure enough, when JC's hand eased itself away from Chris' and moved to cup Justin's chin, dragging him in closer, Justin arched backwards, and Chris hissed at the contact, the warm groove of Justin's ass aligning perfectly with his hardening cock. He couldn't resist a thrust or two, since his hips seemed to have a mind of their own, and he felt more than heard the simultaneous sighs from Justin and JC.

He kept one hand firmly on Justin's hip, and eased the other around to the front of Justin's trousers. The smooth glide of the heavy fabric made him smile against the back of Justin's neck. "These your best, J? I thought you were saving them till the next TC world."

"I didn't have any others," Justin admitted, chuckling. JC laughed as well.

"My lord, your best is zeflar? On TCH-"

"But you'll never be there again, will you?" Chris moved his hand to skim over JC's forearm, the skin warm and silky beneath his touch. "You'll never need to be there again."

JC closed his eyes. "Thank god." He opened them again, and his smile was wide. "Thank you."

"No, no." Chris' hand closed around JC's wrist, bringing his hand down to Justin's groin, relishing the harsh gasp that escaped Justin, the resulting backwards twitch that rubbed smoothly against Chris. "Thank you."

JC smiled, his fingers catching with Chris as together, they moved over the outline of Justin's cock, hot and hard beneath his pants. Chris moved to unbutton Justin's pants, and JC pulled down the zipper, and Justin was a ceaseless symphony of sighs, caught in the middle of a vast ocean of sensation. Together, their hands pushed at the waistband of Justin's trousers; together, their hands wrapped around Justin's cock, and as Justin whimpered and pushed forward, JC lifted his chin over Justin's shoulder, staring hungrily at Chris.

Chris was entranced by the silken heat of Justin's cock in his hand and the hypnotic blue of JC's eyes, and he leaned forward to capture JC's lips, his tongue pushing greedily against JC's as their hands roughly worked Justin. His sweet little whimpers were music to Chris' ears, especially when they were matched in pitch, just a fraction higher, by JC, who brought his other hand up to clasp Chris' shoulder, scrabbling at his shirt, eager to get at the skin beneath it.

Chris wondered hazily if perhaps they shouldn't be a touch more circumspect - if Joey hadn't changed too much, he wouldn't mind, but who knew what having a family did to a man? - but when JC's nails dug into the tender skin under his ribs, he found himself forgetting all about Joey, and simply lurching forward to grind against Justin's ass, desperate for more contact, a deeper taste of JC's mouth, some final satisfaction that his blood was howling for.

"Can you, can you just . . . " JC seemed to be having a bit of trouble speaking - granted, Chris' tongue was in his mouth, but he didn't seem to be speaking to Chris. His hand left Chris' back to push roughly at Justin's trousers as he sucked at Chris' tongue, and Chris felt morally obliged to help him. Justin shimmied his hips, wriggling delightfully against Chris' cock, causing silver trails of starlight to zoom across Chris' vision, and then Chris' hand was encountering bare skin, vast fields of it, all satin-smooth and golden to look at. Judging from JC's happy sigh, he was touching it too. Chris pulled back, regretting the tiny sob that wrenched itself from Justin's throat, but those pants had to go. He knew JC would agree.

A brief tug and a struggle later, with Chris' hands easing Justin's legs out of the trousers and JC's hands easing Justin's arms out of his shirt - there wasn't hardly a prettier thing in the galaxy than a shuddering, aroused Justin, his eyes closed and his cock leaking, his body trembling as if it couldn’t decide which way to tumble. Chris couldn’t really blame him for that; he was keenly invested in getting JC out of those clothes and exploring every newfound inch of glorious, slender muscle.

"Hold him," JC said as he looked directly at Chris. Chris felt a shudder of his own, and he complied, skimming his hands down Justin's arms to his wrists, circling them in a loose grip and pulling upwards. JC nodded his approval, trailing a finger over Justin's chest, running his nail scrapingly light over Justin's nipple. Justin hissed and bucked, but Chris held him firm. This was their game, his and Justin's.

"Make him-"

"I know," JC smiled. "He'll beg." He bent his head and licked at the hollow of Justin's collarbone, and Justin fought Chris, his arms tensing and trying to get loose. Chris kept him still, loving the struggle, the taut muscle of Justin's body.

Justin was whimpering steadily now, his body swaying gently, and JC was making pleased-sounding noises in the back of his throat as he tasted Justin. Chris knew that taste; it was sweet. This whole thing, playing out in his lap, it was all sweet. He had to be the goddamn luckiest bastard in the galaxy.

"Well," came a deep voice from behind them, "isn't that something?" Justin froze, and Chris released his arms. JC had a curious expression on his face, somewhere between poleaxed and petrified, and his eyes had gone alarmingly wide. "I'm assuming once you turn around, you'll turn out to be Christopher Kirkpatrick," the voice added, "and if that's the case, then I want your hands up where I can see them, free and clear. You're under arrest."

Chris closed his eyes. He knew that voice, from TC military transmissions. He’d never expected to hear it in person. "Get dressed, Justin," he said quietly. Justin reached for his shirt.

"Keep still," the voice said irritably, "I said you're under arrest."

"You'll let the boy get his clothes on, Bass."

"I'm not a-"

"Be quiet," Chris snapped. His hand found Justin's trousers and he shoved them in front of Justin. "Be quiet and get dressed. We just got screwed."

"Actually, it looks like I interrupted that. My apologies," Bass said with a hint of amusement. "Alright, get dressed. You're Timberlake, I'm supposing - but I don't know who you are."

JC was breathing fast and shallow, his entire body looking like it was hair-triggered and ready to snap. Chris prayed he had the sense to stay put - the Marshal would no doubt have a weapon out and trained, and if they wanted to get out of this situation, he'd have to think faster than JC could react. Bass was here for him, that much was clear, and if he didn't know who JC was, then he hasn't listened to the military transmissions that were sure to be out on him. But maybe JC didn't know that.

Chris turned slowly as Justin pulled on his clothes. Sure enough, there was a blaster aimed steadily at his chest. The man holding it was true to his profile on the TC wavelengths - blond and calm, with an unflappable expression that Chris had heard never faltered. His eyes were sharply green, and Chris could nearly see himself in them, even at a distance. He stood easily, but Chris could see the coiled readiness in his posture, the mental preparation and the cool assessment. Well. He'd have to be one fine assessor, if he'd finally tracked Chris. Tracked, but not trapped, and Chris' mind was racing through the possibilities of his next move.

"What the-" Joey stepped into the room and froze. Bass half-turned towards him, clearly startled, and the blaster turned with him. JC bolted from the bed and Chris bit back an oath as Justin rose too. Joey raised his hands, but the blaster was already skimming the room rapidly as Bass searched for a target. Chris ducked and rolled in a flash, and JC was out of his line of sight, but there was Justin, trying to follow. Chris moved towards him, but Bass was a quick study. The red targeting light of the blaster was a precise dot on Justin's bare chest, centered perfectly between the hanging folds of his open shirt.

"Don't move," Bass advised, all traces of amusement gone. "You're not the one I'm here for, but I'll shoot you in a heartbeat, don't think I won't."

"Bass," Chris said warningly, but immediately shut up when he saw the tendons of Bass' forearm tighten, his hand clenching minutely on the blaster. No chances here, this had to go right, or there'd be pieces of Justin all over Joey's ship. The Marshal wasn't known for his easy manner or his leniency.

"Go ahead," Justin said recklessly. "Shoot, if you can."

"Justin-" Joey gasped, and Chris sucked in a breath; it was just like the kid, damn his eyes.

"Don't think I won't," Bass repeated, his arm extending slightly. Chris bit his lip. He pleaded silently with Justin's back -  _don't move don't move don't move_  - but he could see Justin gathering himself, he could fucking see it, oh shit-

Bass suddenly slumped forward, crumpling bonelessly to the floor, the blaster falling from his lax hand. JC stood over him, a fuel-crate still raised in his hands, as if he was scared Bass would rise. Chris stared in surprise; that had been just about the last thing he had expected from the Parilipath.

"Did I . . .?" JC trailed off, his voice shaky. Joey moved to kneel by the prone Marshal, swiftly unbuttoning his stiff collar to check his pulse.

'He's alive."

JC nodded, but his arms were still trembling. Justin came to him, gently taking the crate and setting it to the side before rubbing a reassuring hand over JC's back. JC sighed audibly, a rushing release of tension, and he looked at Chris.

"He was going to shoot him," he explained quietly.

"Yes, he was. Because Justin's a damn fool." Chris glanced sharply over at Justin, but the kid didn't even notice the reproach. He had taken JC's hand in his and was stroking his thumb over it soothingly. Chris rolled his eyes. "Well, Joe, we've been reunited for a grand half-hour, wouldn't you say?"

"Oh, grand," Joey agreed, retrieving the blaster from the floor and tucking it into his waistband. "You know, when we were landing, I was thinking, maybe I missed this life. The excitement, the adventure. But you know? I think I can make do without."

"At least it's not boring." Chris rolled his shoulders lazily. "I'd hate to be boring." He joined Joey by the unconscious Bass - the Marshal looked almost innocent, lying there. Chris repressed the urge to straighten his ruffled hair, all falling over his forehead. 

Joey prodded at Bass' thigh. "So what are we going to do with him?"

********************

Lance had once sampled the distilled hibiscan nectar on Franciscan V. The headache he woke up with now was the only thing he could think of that surpassed the pain of that hibiscan hangover. "You don’t want to drink that," his commanding officer at the time had warned him, but Lance had figured he knew what he was doing. His plans were so meticulously thought-out that they rarely failed him. He’d been sick as a dog the next morning, and he was just as sick now - not sick with pain, really, because the pain would pass. But Kirkpatrick had bested him again, and now he was in a fine fix. The youngest Marshal ever, the pride of the Confederacy's ranks, and look at him. He'd never live it down - if he got out of this alive, that was.

He tested the cord that bound his hands together behind the back of the chair he was propped up in, but the knots were deft and complex, digging into his skin just enough to tell him that struggling in the bonds would only afford him nasty chafe burns. That avenue gone, he looked around himself, trying to get a sense for his surroundings. The light was bad, and the air felt damp and heavy - a cargo hold, then, and probably Kirkpatrick's . The silent rumbling of the floor beneath his feet told him that the engines were warm and gunning, but there was no rushing slip of motion. A free-dock, then. He wondered who had accomplished that - Timberlake, perhaps, and if so, he was impressed despite himself. A free-dock was no easy task. He himself had yet to fully master the intricacy of the maneuver.

But this wasn't the time to be admiring his captors. This was the time for rational thought. If his hands were secure, it was a good bet that his legs were too - he tried to pull with his ankles, but they didn't budge an inch. Escape on his own was out then, and if they really were free-docked, then it wouldn't matter, because there'd be nowhere to go. His best bet was stay calm and see what happened when Kirkpatrick came to talk. Which he would. Lance knew his type - he needed to gloat, to feel superior, in order to appease his wayward conscience.

Sure enough, within minutes, Lance heard footsteps ring on the metal stairs. He tossed back his head, shaking his hair out of his eyes - but it wasn't Kirkpatrick at all, nor was it Timberlake. It was one of the other men, the one who had surprised him so greatly by coming out of the woodwork, the larger one.

"Hey there, Marshal," the man greeted him, his voice not completely unfriendly. "I'm here to see to the lump on your head. There's a lump, right?"

Lance stared coolly at the man. "I wouldn't know. I haven't been able to feel my head, have I?"

"Well, is there sort of a dull pulsing? Like your blood's throbbing in your ears?" The man gestured to his head, an icepack and bandages stuffed in his fist. "Are you in pain?"

"There's no need to tend to me. I'll live."

"Yeah, we're all in spacedust ecstasy over that one," the man said, but Lance could hear the relief lurking beneath the surface of the man's sarcasm. "Here, let me put this on anyway. It can't hurt, and it'll bring the swelling down." He approached Lance cautiously, like he was afraid Lance would dart up from the chair and knock him down. "Just . . . just sit still, alright?"

"Do I have a choice?" Lance sighed. If this was a member of Kirkpatrick's crew, the pirate had an even softer heart than he had imagined. He kept his head still as the man applied the ice, flinching slightly at the cold. "May I know your name? Since I'm rather at your mercy here."

"Oh, I don't . . . I mean . . . I'd tell you and all, but I don't want to . . . " The man fumbled with the bandages. "What I mean is, I don't usually do this sort of thing," he finished lamely, stepping back from his clumsy work with the ice and shuffling his feet.

"What, treat your prisoners for the wounds you inflict?"

The man looked offended. "I'm just along for the ride here. I had-" He stopped, checked whatever he had been about to say. "You walked in at a bad time."

"When would have been a good time? A few years ago, perhaps, before you betrayed the Confederacy?"

"Boy, do  _you_  have it backwards," the man said. He shook his head, smiling a little. Lance was surprised, to be honest. Usually, those on the other end of his tongue were a touch more stung by his words. "Look, all I want to get out of this with as little trouble as possible. I have no beef with the TC. Hell, I owe my living to you people. My daughter's got the best tutor on Vis- on my homeworld. My wife's got a house she can move in, and I've got a ship. Without the Confederacy, I'd have none of that. You think I'm not grateful? Hell, I know what side my bread's buttered on."

Lance frowned, confused. "Then why?"

"Circumstances. You know, those things that catch you off-guard sometimes? I fell into something, and my friends are helping me out. That's all, nothing big here."

"But you  _are_  a friend of Kirkpatrick's."

"Of Chris'? Sure I am. If you've done your research on him as well as you ought, you'd probably be able to place me, if you thought about it." The man tilted his head to the side, and Lance raised an eyebrow. Was that a challenge? He knew more about Kirkpatrick's life than anyone else, he'd be willing to bet. He knew his flight patterns and his job preferences. He knew where his mother and sisters lived, and he knew how the money Kirkpatrick sent them got there every other month. He knew when he had left the Academy and who he had flown with after-

"Fatone." The man blinked, and Lance smiled for real this time, shrugging as much as he was able to in his bonds. "I've done my research. You have a brother on TCH, don't you?"

"He's not in this at all," Fatone said hurriedly. "He thinks I'm on my way home." Lance nodded, almost touched by his immediate concern and revising his initial assessment. However it was that Fatone had fallen back in with Kirkpatrick, he clearly wasn't the criminal sort. "And Chris filled me in on you a bit, Marshal Bass. Been busting for him for years, huh? I have to tell you, he's a little shocked you actually caught up with him. Knocked him clean for a loop."

"He's got an ego," Lance agreed. Fatone laughed. 

"That he does, you have the truth of it, although I doubt you take it as fondly as we do. Plus, you've never experienced his sweeter side."

"He has one of those?" Lance kept his voice light, because he was suddenly hit by the images he carried in his head, of Kirkpatrick with his arms up against the wall, Kirkpatrick leaning towards him, that devilish smirk just begging to be wiped away. "I don't know, Fatone-"

"Eh, you know, call me Joey." Fatone waved a hand. "If you know about my brother, it's nothing you wouldn't discover on your own. Plus, you'll probably be along for the ride for a bit, just like me, so we may as well be as friendly as we can, under the circumstances."

"Those things that catch you off-guard sometimes." Lance nodded. "I know those." He thought quickly for a moment, searching his brain for the bad in this - and he couldn't find any, which was a little surprising. But he survived on his instincts, and they had rarely led him astray. "In that case, I'm Lance."

"I know. He filled me in, I said. He's crazy, he's got a whole dossier on you." Joey blanched. "Er, I mean, nothing you couldn't get legally, of course."

"Of course," Lance said dryly. He knew as well as Joey did that all personal information on Marshals was strictly classified.

"He's only trying to run a business."

"An illegal business, providing contraband and rebellion goods to outworlders."

"If people don't want to join the Confederacy, that's their business," Joey said staunchly. "The TC's done its fair share of good, but the TC's also done a sight of bad, and we should all be free to choose our own government, if that's what trips our wire."

"People don't know enough to choose," Lance argued. "What the Confederacy provides is more than material order, it's civilized stability. You can only get that through uniformity, and outworlds don't seem to understand that."

"But people are different, which means planets are different. Not everyone needs to be run the same."

Lance sighed. He wasn't sure how to explain it - he just knew, through and through, that the Confederacy was the galaxy's best chance for discipline and democracy. Joey Fatone might earn his living off the TC; he might even appreciate it as fully as it deserved. But he was blinding himself, all these rebels and pirates were. He just wished they could see it as he saw it. Everybody’s life would be so much simpler. "I know it's difficult to understand. That's why the Confederacy exists. You don't have to understand. You simply have to trust."

Joey frowned. "You don't believe that, do you, Marshal? If you simply trusted all the authority you came across, you'd be bound for cold space before you could blink. You question it too, same as us. You just don't let yourself know it."

Lance shifted. The cord seemed to be biting tighter into his wrists, as Joey's words sank in. Could that be possible? Could even a Marshal of the Confederacy doubt the pure rightness of the government, even bone-deep as Joey seemed to think he did? Surely not. That would fly in the face of everything he believed in, everything he held true.

"You're thinking about it," Joey pressed, his voice gentle. "That's good. That's all we want; that's all Chris wants, really, in all his racketeering and running of the markets. He's selling to the thinkers. He's encouraging the questioners. He doesn't mess with TC-affiliated worlds. He just wants everyone to get a fair shake."

But what Chris did . . .what Kirkpatrick did wasn't fair, Lance wanted to protest. He opened his mouth, but just then he heard footsteps ringing on the stairs again, fast and taking them two at a time. It was Timberlake, who emerged into the dim light, saw Joey and skidded to a halt.

"Hey, I didn't . . . I just wanted to see if he was awake yet." A jerk of his thumb indicated that he was talking about Lance.

"Well, he's awake," Joey smiled. "Justin, this is Marshal Lance Bass of the Confederacy. Lance, Justin Timberlake, Chris' co-pilot."

"I know-"

"-Who he is," both Lance and Justin said at the same time, and Justin glared, as if Lance had meant to step on his words and usurp his superiority. Now would come that gloating Lance had been expecting, he was sure of it. All his documents on Timberlake drew a profile of a cocky and self-assured man, talented to be sure, but foolhardy and hot-blooded. Not that much different from when he was in school, but then, they hadn't really run in the same circles. Lance wasn't surprised that Justin didn't remember him.

"So you're awake. That's good, I suppose. Means there's no permanent damage," Justin said darkly. "I wouldn't have come down, but I think JC's still worried about it." Joey was making interesting shushing noises, glancing sideways at Lance, but Justin continued on. "Although I don’t know why; he should be proud of himself, takes some kind of guts to clock a Marshal with a blaster in his hand." 

"JC?" That must have the other man, the thin, pretty one on the bed when Lance had messed up the situation so badly. And a fuel-crate, for god's sake. No wonder his head hurt like he'd been drinking that Franciscan nectar again. "Is he one of your crew as well?"

Justin bit his lip, looking suddenly abashed. "Um." His eyes darted to Joey, who was hiding a smile. Lance rolled his eyes.

"Don't tell me. He's just as outlawed as you. I can't believe you people actually took me. I'm never going to be able to write my report." He realized he was now assuming that he'd be let go. Huh. He wondered what that meant.

"Were you really going to shoot me?" Justin asked suddenly. Lance decided that if he was going to keep shrugging, they were going to have to untie him. His shoulders were beginning to ache.

"I was prepared to shoot you, yes. If you'd been in my boots, wouldn't you have been ready to do the same?"

Justin frowned. "I suppose. But I'd never be in your boots."

"And he'd never be in yours," Joey explained patiently, when Lance heaved a sigh. "But look, we're all friends now, huh? Let's not rehash the past."

"It was half a day ago," Justin grumbled, "and JC's still upset about it. I don't think he's ever had to do something like that before. And we're friends now? With a TC Marshal who tried to KILL me?"

"If we're not friends, then we're acting like it," Joey said firmly. Lance watched as Justin considered the words, clearly weighting the pros and cons of acting like a civilized adult - he was betting that Justin would stomp up the stairs any moment now, so he was surprised when Justin seemed to shake himself all over and grin brightly. The change was so vivid, his smile so golden, that Lance found himself nearly returning it.

"Well then, we're acting like it. Ha, I'd offer to shake your hand, but it seems you're a little tied up at the moment."

Lance raised an eyebrow. "This isn't making me want to kill you any less, you realize."

"Unless you want another fuel-crate on your head, I wouldn't keep expressing that sentiment." 

It was almost comical, watching Justin's head spin so fast he nearly knocked himself over. The other man, JC, Lance supposed, was coming slowly down the stairs. His arms were wrapped around himself like he was cold, his hands clutching tightly at the loose fabric of his sleeves. He kept a cautious eye on Lance, which was ridiculous, because whoever had tied these knots had been a master, but his manner didn't seem overly hostile. There was a steel edge to his melodic voice as he continued. "I didn't hit you as hard as I might have. I wouldn't make that mistake twice, you know, if it was something that needed doing again. But I'm glad to see you're well."

"He was sick over it," Justin confided, and JC frowned.

"I was hardly sick over it. I was concerned, perhaps."

Lance wasn't sure where these rebels and outlaws came from, but they were as different as night and day from the prisoners he usually took in to TCH. First Joey, then Justin, now this one, JC, all concerned about him, all coming to check on his health - he had never cared if the rebels he brought in were dead or alive. The capture was the thing, the victory the goal. He was being forced to reevaluate so many presumptions so quickly, it was starting to make his head hurt. Even worse.

"He's fine, I took care of the lump," Joey reassured JC, whose eyes went wide for a moment. Lance caught his breath suddenly - those eyes were startling, a gorgeous ocean of color, flecked with gold in their centers. He was suddenly aware that JC was achingly attractive - not his type, really, but beautiful nonetheless.

"There was a lump?"

"It's under the icepack."

"He needed an icepack?"

Justin tucked his arm around JC's waist, fingers stroking at JC's hand, and Lance remembered - how could he have forgotten? - how he had found them in the ship. He smiled a little. "It's numb now, no worries. I'll be fine, I'm sure. Granted, you can't hit me again."

"Don't threaten my friends and we'll be clear there," JC answered, leaning into Justin ever so slightly. Lance also remembered now that Kirkpatrick had been with them, back in the ship, his hands stroking easily over Justin's bare skin. He wondered how that fit together, how Justin could hold JC so easily now and yet have leant back so freely into Chris' caress. Those images of his were getting distorted now, mixed up with the scene he had seen, and he felt his cheeks flush a bit.

JC coughed loudly, suddenly, the sound echoing off the walls of the cargo hold. He looked sharply at Lance, seemingly right through him, and Lance felt the bottom of his stomach drop out. Those flecks of gold. Those flecks of gold in JC's eyes. That meant something, and had Lance not been stupidly, stupidly distracted by everything that was happening, he would have picked up on it sooner, he would have noticed, and he would have - but there was nothing you  _could_  do about it, no way to block it. 

A smile was curving delicately around the corners of JC's mouth, and Lance licked his lips desperately. "You're a Parilipath," he said hollowly, his gut cold and twisting.

"I'm a Parilipath," JC acknowledged.

"Don't." Lance locked gazes with JC. He refused to beg aloud, he simply refused, but he wasn't above pleading with his eyes. He kept his voice steady. "Don’t."

"Don't what?" Justin asked, confused. "He can't help being a sex alien, it's his family."

"I'm not a sex alien," JC responded automatically, the smile still crinkling his eyes. "I'm an empath with Lyran ancestry."

"What don't you want him to do?" Justin asked again. Joey elbowed Justin, who turned and elbowed him right back. Joey grabbed him around the neck, pulling his head under his arm, and Justin hollered, battering ineffectually at Joey's midsection. JC ignored the hubbub beside him and took a step closer to Lance, then another, until he could reach out and touch him, if he wanted. Lance steeled himself, lifting his chin.

"How many years have you been tracking him?" JC asked softly.

Lance didn't have to answer that. Parilipaths couldn't read minds, it didn't work like that. But something in the gentle set of JC's smile pulled at him, eased the twisted nausea in his stomach. "Two years," he answered honestly.

"And how much of that time . . . .?"

Lance wasn't prepared to answer that. He wasn't really sure he was prepared to think about it concretely. Damn the cross-breeders, double-damn them. He would have been perfectly happy to keep those images, those feelings and desires, locked deep inside where no one could get at them, not even himself. He wanted to look away now, he really did - but JC's gaze was hypnotic and compelling.

"I have news for you, Marshal, if it's news you're wanting to hear." 

Lance shivered. He wanted to hear nothing. He wanted to know nothing. And he certainly didn't want anyone else knowing anything either. 

"I hope it's good news. I could use a bit of that." Lance's eyes whipped upwards, tearing from JC's to light on the figure of Kirkpatrick as he descended the staircase. "Well, what a party we've got here," Kirkpatrick said, surveying the room. "Joey, let go of Justin, he needs his head on his shoulders to undock us. JC, stop doing whatever you're doing to Marshal Bass, here."

"We're calling him Lance now," Justin said, wrenching free of Joey and rubbing at his neck. "Because we're  _friends_  now."

"Weren't we friends before, Marshal?" Kirkpatrick asked. "Oh, Lance, excuse me. Friends of a sort, anyway. You just feel free to call me Chris, as you please." He patted Justin on the arm as he passed him on his way to Lance and came to a stop just before the chair, beside JC, who fell back respectfully. Hands planted thoughtfully on his hips, he scrutinized Lance's face. Lance felt like he was being appraised as carefully as a Mithren minefield before a charge, and he kept himself still and calm, protecting against Chris' probing examination. It wouldn't do to have any explosions; Lance had passed that point hours before. 

"Well," Chris said finally, "we're not bound for this sector, and unless you want to tailcoat on the TC-" Lance's horror must have crossed over his face, because Chris barked a laugh, that grin firmly in place, just as Lance had known it would be. "-Then we've got to find something to do with you, Lance."

"If you come with me peacefully back to TCH, I'll guarantee you a plea bargain," Lance said smoothly. "You won't escape jail, but I can make it a more pleasant Guard than what you'd warrant otherwise."

Justin laughed, but Chris waved a hand at him. His grin neither faltered nor turned cruel or mocking - if anything, Lance thought it took on a touch of appreciation, of grudging respect. He felt light-headed, dizzy with a rush of - what? Surely not pleasure. Surely not.

"I'll give you marks for trying, but you know that won't fly with me." 

"It'd be the smart move."

"That's why he's not doing it," Justin joked.

"You should untie him," JC suggested quietly. 

"And why should I do that? Don't let's forget, this is the highest ranked Marshal in these parts, and the most dangerous. Isn't that right?" He quirked an eyebrow at Lance, who merely nodded. It was the truth, if an ineffective one at the moment. 

"He's been trussed for a long time. He's uncomfortable." JC looked at Lance. "Aren't you?"

"Why didn't you say?" Joey asked. "I could have rubbed your legs or something, get the blood flowing back."

"We're rubbing his legs now?" Justin groaned. "First-name basis is one thing, but I think we're all getting just a little too friendly here."

"Quiet, Curly." Chris produced a short knife from his hip-belt, the blade swinging free from the sheath and reflecting the dim light in dull silver flashes. Lance swallowed as Chris crossed behind him, but it was more reflex than nerves. "We're all decent men here - you're a decent man, are you?" The knife traced over the edge of Lance's jaw, sending thrilling shivers over Lance's skin. "I would hate to put the kind of trust in you that got me blasted for my trouble. I've got some folks depending on me, outworld. Wouldn't want to disappoint no one, here." The knife curved lightly over Lance's cheek. "So you give me your word that you'll stay calm, just like I know you want to, and I'll untie you."

Lance narrowed his eyes, aware of the other three watching him intently and tilted his face, not away from the knife's cutting blade, but into it. The edge pressed bluntly into his skin, and he heard Chris mutter a curse. "I'll give you my word if you give me yours," he said. "I'm not the only one who wants things to stay calm here."

There was a moment of silence, and Lance could practically hear the ship settling around them. Then the knife's pressure vanished, and Lance let out his breath. "You're right," Chris admitted grudgingly. "We've all got a vested interest in peaceful behavior. Then we're agreed? Your parole, and we'll work out where to go from there."

"My parole," Lance agreed, and he felt the knife begin to saw at the cord that bound his wrists.

"You're sure we can trust him?" Justin asked, sounding not like he believed his own question, but rather that it was the sort of thing he'd be expected to ask.

"You're an Academy man, Justin. You know as well as I do what his word means now."

"Besides, there's always those fuel-crates we can arm JC with," Joey said, clearly trying to lighten the mood. 

"I don't think that'll be necessary." Lance felt the cord fall away and then felt the blood begin to flow back into his hands with a sluggish needling ache. He gingerly brought his arms around, the muscles protesting the movement. Chris stepped around to the front of the chair and knelt before Lance, cutting at the cord around his ankles. When he set the knife down, he looked up into Lance's face with a sharp smile. Lance blinked, and Chris picked up his hands, rubbing them roughly, encouraging the bloodflow, his fingers circling Lance's and pressing into the knuckles. "The Marshal won't renege, not on his word on honor. Will you, Marshal?"

"Lance," JC reminded Chris. "We're calling him Lance." Chris' smile turned wolfish, and he nodded.

"Up then, Lance." He dropped Lance's hands back into his lap and rose to his feet, brushing at the knees of his trousers. "And we'll figure our next step." Lance got up carefully, mindful of the tingling in his legs, knowing that if he rushed it, he'd fall over, and he didn't want to appear weak now. Now more than ever, it was important that he stayed strong. He looked over at the Parilipath, who was studying Chris as he gathered up the shorn cord. He looked away when JC cocked his head and turned towards him - strong, not weak, even in the face of his secrets being revealed.

"Can we get out of this hold?" Justin complained. "I don't know if you've noticed, Chris, but the metal in here is corroded a bit. It's not as nice as up top."

"You want nice in a ship, you can go work for the TC," Chris shot back, grinning over his shoulder at Lance. "But by all means, since we're being civilized now, let's go topside to sort out our impasse." He motioned with his hand, and Justin took the stairs up two at a time, pausing on the midpoint landing to beckon to JC. Joey clapped Chris on the back as he passed, following the other two up the stairs.

"You've still got the knack for diplomacy, brother. Masterful, masterful."

"You call that diplomatic?" Lance sniffed, when Joey was out of earshot. "If I can feel my feet in the next day, I'll count myself lucky."

"Well, you should be doing that anyway," Chris said seriously. "Justin wanted to hand you over to the outworlders on Lighthead, and I guarantee you, you wouldn't be feeling your feet ever again if I had let him have his way."

"I'm indebted," Lance said, looking Chris straight in the eye, and to his surprise, Chris dropped his gaze, his bootheel scuffing at the ground.

"I'm not inclined to just hare off and kill any man I've not at least met and had the chance to hate in person." He looked up, and Lance was struck by the honest candor in his face. "And believe me when I say I never thought I'd say this, but now that I've met you? I can't say I hate you. Even if you did try to kill my co-pilot."

Lance felt the blush start to rise in his cheeks again. "Justin - he's just your co-pilot?"

Chris arched an eyebrow. "There isn’t any 'just' about it; you've got the files, you know what he can do. This is his free-dock here. He did it in twenty-five minutes."

Lance nodded, impressed, but still searching for what he wanted to ask - hell, he didn't even know what he wanted to ask. "But when I found you all on Fatone's ship . . . you . . . . the three of you were . . . "

Chris grinned. "Yes, we were. Why? You got some kind of problem?" He leaned in towards Lance, his breath suddenly hot and immediate on Lance's face. "You some kind of jealous? JC's pretty, no?"

Lance looked away. "He is. He's a Parilipath as well. Is that what you like, what he was giving you, with Justin?"

Chris caught Lance's chin in his hand, forcing his head back around. "That's part of what I like, and I'm not ashamed. Why, Marshal?" His fingers burned brands into Lance's skin, his eyes dropping to Lance's open mouth. "What do you like?"

Lance closed his eyes, the world spinning in and out of focus as his heart pounded in his chest. This wasn't how anything was supposed to go, never in a million years was this the universe that Lance Bass inhabited, not this right here. His universe was logical, his universe was orderly, and there was nothing logical about the fire of Chris' hand, the physical intrusion into Lance's space, the sense that in a moment, he'd feel the rough press, sweet in its surprise, its shock, its utter unpredictability-

Sirens wailed, loud and blaring, and Lance felt Chris stutter against him, then pull back. He had never felt as relieved at anything in his entire life, not when he had survived the Callistan brigade, not ever, and he passed a hand over his eyes, hoping to wipe everything from them, everything he didn't want reflected for Chris to see and interpret. God. What was happening to him?

"Come on, you're just going to stand there?" Chris was already halfway up the stairs by the time Lance dropped his hand. "Topside, Marshal, let's go."

********************

"Oh hell, hell, hell." This was not good. This was the opposite of good. This was pretty damn bad, and Joey had been in a few bad situations in his life.

"What's with the sirens?" Chris emerged from the cargo hold into the cockpit, pushing past JC and throwing himself down in the pilot's seat next to Justin, who was working the matrix as fast as his fingers would let him. Joey didn't say anything - Chris would see for himself before he could say it anyway. He felt another presence at his back, and moved aside to let Lance into the tiny cockpit as well.

"Oh, you are  _shitting_  me." Chris stared at the console, all lit up in glaring, miserable red, and Joey grimaced. "How are they here?"

"Maybe-" Justin opened his mouth, but Joey tapped him on the shoulder before he could finish that thought. There was no way Lance could have alerted the TC as to their whereabouts - Joey had checked him for devices himself, when he was unconscious, and he had been clean. Either TCH Military had managed to track Joey's ship, currently free-docked to the side of Chris', or they had been doing a random scout of the sector. Either way, it was bad. Especially with that free-dock hindering their movement.

"There's no way we're going to get out of this before they notice us," Chris said tersely. "This week just keeps getting better and better. No offense to you, Joe."

"None taken." Joey placed a steadying hand on JC - the Parilipath had wrapped his arms around himself again, hugging himself tightly, his face a drawn study in fear. "Don't worry," he whispered to JC. "They may notice us, but you're on the right ship still. No one's better at this than Chris. That's why I brought you to him." JC nodded, but Joey wasn't sure he had succeeded in reassuring him - no large wonder there, since he wasn't particularly reassured himself.

"I'm open to options," Chris announced. "Joey? Curly? Any thoughts?"

"Justin did that free-dock in no time flat," Joey said. "How fast could you undock us?"

Justin rubbed a hand over his scalp, biting his lip. "I could do it in twenty minutes, maybe," he said after a second's consideration. "Fifteen at a shove, but I wouldn't be able to guarantee both ships' getting free intact. There might be some damage to yours or ours, and we'd still be screwed seven ways from Sunday."

"Not to mention, we don't have fifteen minutes anyway." Chris frowned at the console. "Do you have a lifetug on the Bensonhurst, Joe?"

Joey shook his head, feeling slightly sick. If the TC caught him in this, he'd see Kelly and Briahna again, but only via holograms in some outpost jail. JC's crime debt would triple, and Chris and Justin would be thrown to the wolves, unless Lance's offer of leniency stayed good. Their time was ticking away, the Confederacy cruisers just on the other side of the dustcloud would come upon them, and he'd never sing for his supper again.

"Don't give me that face," Chris snapped. "Joe, hey, come on. You've got that look, and you know I don't like that look."

"How do you want me to look, Kirkpatrick? We're all about to go down in flames and not a lot of glory."

"Not all of us," JC said. He leaned forward, nudging at Lance. "I don't know anything about evasive maneuvers, and I guess Chris is out of ideas."

"I'm still thinking, though" Justin interjected, and JC ran a hand over the back of his neck.

"Justin's still thinking, but you're the most familiar of all of us here with TC ships and tactics. If you can think of anything," he paused for a moment, inclining his head forward, although Joey wasn't really sure why, "I'm sure we'd all be indebted."

Joey saw Chris' back straighten at the word 'indebted,' although he didn't turn away from the console. Lance's eyebrows drew together, and the emotions flooded over his face like an ebbing solar tide. It was interesting to watch, really, the stoic Marshal so openly conflicted about something Joey was sure wouldn't have given him a moment's pause a day ago. It seemed like everyone was holding their breath, the only sound the wailing sirens that Chris hadn't turned off, for some reason.

"There's a maneuver," Lance admitted slowly. "I don't know how to do it, but I know the theory of it."

"Well, what is it?" Chris tapped his fingers impatiently on the arm of the seat. "I hate to rush you, Princess, but we're in a bit of a hurry." Joey frowned at him, shaking his head - couldn't he see that this was something monumental for Lance, something so completely contradictory to his character? Anything nasty from Chris' mouth, and Lance might change his mind, decide that pulling so many plums in one basket was more than worth the price of the debt he owed them.

"There's an evasive tactic you can do in a free-dock," Lance continued, glaring at the back of Chris' head. 

"Bullshit," Justin said decisively. "If you could evade in a free-dock, I'd have figured out how to do it."

"It's tricky, or so I've read. You have to reverse your dampeners so your ship can rotate."

Joey's heart sank. "The Bensonhurst doesn't have inertia dampeners."

"But if the ones on this ship are powerful enough, it'd be enough to pull yours along," Justin said slowly. His eyes were gleaming, a spark of concentration in them as JC kept rubbing at the back of his neck. "We just upgraded our dampeners two months ago."

"You're crazy," Chris bit out. "Reversing the dampeners is suicide. That's the first thing they teach you in the Academy flight classes."

"I've been to the Academy a little more recently than you," Lance said gently. "And Justin even more recently than me. Do you remember Hargiska's Theorem?"

Justin nodded.

"The latest extrapolations of the Theorem indicate that if you reverse the dampeners while you kick your drive into hyperspeed, the momentum will let you steer a dual ship lock. Like I said, I don’t know how to do it."

"And neither does he," Chris sighed, but Justin held up a hand.

"I don't, you're right. But I can try it. I think I get what he's saying. I think I can see . . . " He nodded again, more firmly this time. "I can definitely try it. I mean, I might kill us."

"Now you're looking on the bright side," Chris grumbled.

"But then again, I might get us away. And it's worth the risk, huh?"

"It's worth it," Joey said fervently. Chris turned to look at him, and Joey tried to convey the strength of his conviction with the set of his jaw. "It's worth it."

"Is it worth to you, JC?" Chris asked. JC's hand tightened fractionally on the back of Justin's neck, and Justin's hand came up to cover it.

"It's worth it," Joey repeated. He looked over at Lance, who stood to the side, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

"Then it's worth it to me," Chris said, with a final searching glance in the Marshal's direction. "Alright, Curly. What do you need?"

"Punch up the drive." Justin released JC's hand and turned completely back to the console. "Punch it up hard and give me all external power over here." Chris nodded, stretching briefly before settling fully into the seat, his fingers beginning to dance over the console's display. Joey watched in fascination - he was a decent pilot, but he had never come close to rivaling Chris' skill, and if Justin was as good as Chris made him out to be, then they were in for a spectacle indeed. 

JC tugged at his hand. "Let's let them work," he suggested softly. "I don't know about this technical stuff."

Joey nodded. He turned to Lance. "How long does this maneuver take? Those cruisers are only about eight minutes from breaking through that dustcloud."

"If they can get their drive up to speed, and the dampeners kick out, it should only take three or four minutes," Lance said. "More than enough time, since the hyperspeed will already be active. But there's supposed to be a big jolt. If there are belts in the common space, I think we should strap in."

"Strap in, strap in, just shut the hell up and let us work," Chris called out peevishly. Joey smiled, and caught Lance doing the same, before he noticed Joey noticing, and ducked his head. Joey raised an eyebrow at JC, who only shrugged. Well. Joey had always known that Chris was a charismatic bastard. Maybe he had underestimated just how charismatic he really was.

The jumpseats in the common space pulled down easily enough, and Joey strapped himself in tightly, as Lance and JC did the same, Lance in the seat closest to the cockpit so that if Justin had any last-second questions, he could answer them. Joey closed his eyes. He could feel the increasing rumble of the drive deep in the belly of the ship, and he could hear the heavy groan of the inertia dampeners as they revved up to full power, and the sirens still blared, droning and fearsome. He swallowed dryly. If this didn't work . . . if Justin couldn't pull this off . . . it didn't bear thought. He focused on breathing, in and out, his hands clutching at the belt across his lap and chest.

"It'll be ok, Joey." JC's voice, warm and melodic and comforting, floated over the space to him. Wasn't JC nervous? Of course not, he didn't have a free-docked ship tied to this monstrosity of a maneuver. 

"A minute from reversal," Chris hollered.

"Timberlake can do it," Lance said, just a little tremulously. 

"Justin," JC reminded him, and Joey opened his eyes. JC smiled across the way at him, supremely calm. "Justin can do it."

"Thirty seconds!"

"He better not ruin my ship," Joey hissed, and JC shook his head.

"He won't. It'll be fine. We'll be fine."

"Ten seconds! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six!" Joey squeezed his eyes shut again and conjured up Kelly's face, Briahna's lilting laugh. "Five! Four! Three! Hold on, hold on, reversing NOW!"

The scream of the inertia dampeners drowned out the sirens, and Joey felt his stomach drop out as the ship spun on its axis, whirling madly in the vacuum of space with nothing to push against except its own power. The familiar sickening lurch of the drive thrust him back into the jumpseat, and he felt his face flatten as he clung to the belt for dear life. The gravity field within the ship started to give. Joey could feel himself lift out of the seat, as the lights flickered, and through the little round window, he could see a vast canvas of stars, circling, tumbling, and the dustcloud in front of them, large and luminous, with the TC only minutes away. He stared desperately at the cloud, trying to orient himself as the ship spun and spun - and then with a thump, the gravity field kicked back in. The hyperspeed whirred, and the dustcloud receded, from a massive ocean of purple and red, to a mere lake, to a puddle, to a grain of sand - and then it was gone in the blur of hyperspeed.

"Fuck," he said weakly, trying to grin but not quite able to pull it up just yet. "I'm buying that kid a million beers."

********************

Justin couldn't quite believe it. His palms were sweaty, and his knees were weak, and he had to stop himself from checking whether or not he needed to change his underwear. That maneuver was going to go down in the history books - well, it would, if he could talk to the historians about it. He had to be the best damn pilot in the galaxy. In the universe. In the multi-verse!

"You ok, Curly? You're still shaking a bit over there." 

Justin rolled his eyes. He wasn't shaking; it was just the tension in his body letting itself out. "I'm fine. I'm better than fine." He exhaled, unbuckling his beltstrap, rising carefully so that when he went back into the common space, JC wouldn't see his thighs trembling or anything. "I'd like to see the TC match  _that_  bit of flying!"

"I wouldn't," Chris said, wiping the sweat from his brow. "That was a little too close for my comfort, personally. But then I'm old and scared of little things like losing my freedom forever - or, you know, dying in the pitiless vacuum of hyperspace when you crash my ship into a million little bitty bits."

"I had it under control the whole time." He had, he had known nearly right away that he could do it. Nearly. As soon as the dampeners had reversed, certainly.

Chris rose from the pilot's seat, grabbing Justin up in a tight hug, his face switching lightning-fast from sardonically amused to serious. "Thank you," he said into Justin's neck, pressing a kiss there. "Thank you for that."

Justin tightened his arms around Chris, breathing in the good scent of him. "You're welcome, Captain. It was my pleasure to get us the hell out of there."

"Next time you want a raise, you just remind me of this, ok?" Chris released him, and Justin glared.

"Next time? I got news for you, next time is right the fuck now. In fact, I want a two percent increase every time I save our hides."

"We'll discuss it after we look at the damage to the drive. Don't think I didn't hear that weird pinging noise."

"That was your tiny iron heart rattling around in the massive hollow of your chest, you thankless bastard!"

"Is this how you celebrate all your victories?" Lance poked his head into the cockpit. Justin was gratified to see that the solemn Marshal was still whey-faced and pallid - but then Chris crossed over to Lance and wrapped him in a hug just as tight as the one he'd given Justin. Lance stiffened in his arms, his face comically gaping like a fish. Justin chortled.

"What was that for?" Lance choked when Chris let him go.

"We owe you our thanks as well, Marshal. You made the right decision. How does it feel, helping outworlders evade the Confederacy?"

Justin groaned; he didn't want this to start up again. But Lance surprised him with a smile. "It felt better than I thought it would. It helps that you're properly grateful, of course."

"I give credit where it's due," Chris told him, and Justin cocked his head at the glance they were exchanging - there was something being said there, and he couldn't quite see it, and he wasn't sure he wanted to. He loved Chris and all, but he was a strange fellow with strange tastes, at the end of the day. Except for his taste in co-pilots, of course.

JC came through the cockpit door just then, and Lance took a flustered step back from Chris. Justin grinned - strange tastes indeed - and JC brushed a hand over his. "Hey," he said. "We're alive."

"You doubted it?"

"Not for a second." JC smiled brightly at him, and Justin felt his heart swell. Well. He actually felt something else swell too, because JC's smile was just the loveliest thing ever, and he was looking at Justin like he knew exactly what Justin wanted, a release for the rest of that tension, a celebration, they were fucking  _alive_ , and it was all thanks to him.

He reached up and wrapped his hand in the length of JC's curls, feeling their silken weight slip between his fingers as he gently pulled JC's head towards him, leaning in for a kiss. JC opened up willingly, his tongue sweet and eager, licking into Justin's mouth. His lips were soft, and Justin wanted to drown against them, rest there forever and never come up for air.

He heard someone clearing their throat and pulled back a bit, regretting the whimper that pulled itself from JC's throat. Joey was leaning against the doorway, watching them with a keen interest, while Lance was blushing and staring at Chris' shoulder, apparently. Chris was grinning, his hand resting easily on Lance's arm, but Justin could see his fingers tightening ever so slowly. He liked watching Justin, he always said so.

JC turned his head to look at Chris as well, and he hummed a pleased note. "Really? I think that can be accommodated." Chris glanced at him sharply, and JC smiled. "Oh yes, most definitely." Justin was about to ask what exactly JC was picking up on, when JC turned back to him suddenly and dove back into the kiss, hard and hungry this time, devouring Justin's mouth with a ferocious intensity that nearly made Justin's knees buckle. JC's hands were roving now, fast and fierce, over Justin's shoulders and down his back to cup his ass possessively, dragging him forward, squeezing hard and sudden. Justin gasped, and JC's tongue fought against his, tangling and stroking, wet and hot.

Justin shuddered all over, his hands sliding from JC's hair to the back of his neck, clasping convulsively as JC lifted him, actually physically lifted him from the floor, pressing him back into the common space, until they hit the wall. If Justin had been hard before, he was practically on fire now, his cock grinding against the flat muscles of JC's stomach. His leg lifted reflexively, curling around JC's thigh, and JC crushed forward, increasing the friction.

"You like that," he murmured, satiny-slick into Justin's ear, his mouth suckling wetly, and Justin gasped again, nodding blindly. "They like it too." Justin lifted his eyes; sure enough, Chris was grinning like he had just won a prize, and his fingers were stroking over Lance's arm with a rhythm that Justin recognized. Lance was watching too now. His cheeks were stained red, and his tongue was swiping unconsciously over his lips, and Justin wanted to grab him, or shove him into Chris' arms, or  _something_ , anything, god.

"Are you paying attention?" JC growled, and Justin's focus snapped back as JC roughly grabbed his arms and lifted them over his head. He heard a choked gasp from Lance's direction, but he couldn't drag his eyes from JC's, gleaming and intent as he gathered Justin's wrists in one hand, and ran the other up under his shirt. He tweaked at Justin's nipples, hard and unforgiving, and as Justin's back arched, he thought he heard a gasp from Joey this time. But dammit, there were three of them over there, they could fucking well entertain themselves.

"Is that really what you want?" JC murmured, his hand merciless. "I don't think so. Ask them, go on." Justin panted, his head thrown back against the wall, and JC pinched at his nipple again, twisting hard. Justin whimpered. "Ask them, I said."

"Chris," Justin whispered, his voice sounding small and scratchy. "Chris, please."

"Chris, please," JC echoed, as he tugged Justin's shirt off, tossing it carelessly to the ground. "I think your co-pilot needs some help, don't you think?"

Justin bared his teeth when he felt Chris' hand on his leg, curving around the muscle to stroke at his inner thigh. He tried to thrust forward, but JC was holding him immobile, and all he could do was sob helplessly as Chris ran his hand lightly upwards, so fucking lightly, over the aching weight of his balls. He twisted against the wall, but found no purchase. JC nipped at his neck, biting and licking to soothe over the sting, and Chris' hand worked up, pressing firm at the trapped heat of his cock. His hips tried to buck, his spine curved painfully, but it was fucking, fucking useless, they weren't letting him move at all.

When JC moved aside, still holding Justin to the wall, Chris dragged off Justin's pants, and god, it was a fucking redux of just a day and a half earlier, but hotter, so much hotter. Chris held Justin's hips flat to the wall, and when JC leaned in to kiss him, Justin wailed into his mouth - there was a flat, wet tongue lapping at his cock, stroking firestrong and smooth over the head, and then Chris took it into his mouth, his fingers digging into Justin's skin until Justin saw stars.

"Lance," JC said, "Lance, can you come here?" Justin couldn't see, he couldn't see at all, but over the pounding rush of blood in his ears, he could just hear the marshal's hesitant footsteps. If he could think coherently, he would wonder at Lance's sheer nerve, but at the moment, all he cared about was the slick perfection of Chris' mouth on him, the tight grip of JC's hands.

"It's alright, Lance," JC encouraged, his voice throaty and low. "He wants you to."

Justin nearly protested - he was happy right there, with what he had. But when Chris' mouth tightened suddenly around him, his tongue curling as his surprised groan caused Justin to shake in reaction, Justin realized JC wasn't talking about him. He forced his eyes open; sure enough, Lance had come forward, his face still burning crimson, and his hands were resting tentatively on Chris' shoulders. Chris pulled off of Justin's cock, and Justin bit back a protest as JC descended on his mouth again.

"God," he heard Chris groan, "god, are you sure?" He couldn't hear Lance's response, but Chris' groan suddenly went deeper. His hand found Justin's thigh again, but it was an aimless sort of touch, wandering and tantalizing. Justin snarled futilely, trying to grind forward, and JC took pity on him, reclaiming his place in front of him.

"They're kissing," he told Justin, as his hand dipped low, the back of it brushing against Justin's cock as he undid his trousers with a few easy motions. "They're kissing, and Chris is still watching us. He thinks we're beautiful. He wants to see us fuck." Justin whimpered, and JC gave him a few careless strokes, achingly rough, burning his skin, his fingers working underneath to slip eagerly across the muscle of Justin's entrance. "Do you want him to see that, Justin? Do you want Lance to hear it, me moving in you, you want that?"

"Yes, yes," Justin managed, "oh please, JC-"

"I know you do," JC told him. He brought his hand up to his mouth and licked his palm, his tongue working between his fingers, before bringing it back down and wrapping it around Justin's cock. "Joey, can you-"

"I'm already on it," Justin heard Joey say, "it's right here, Jesus fuck, why didn't we have this when I flew with you before, Chris?" Chris didn't answer; out of the corner of his eye, Justin saw him wrestling with Lance for control, their kiss fierce and battling, antagonistic and ferocious. Joey stepped up beside JC, slipping something into his hand and stroking a wistful finger over the glistening sheen on Justin's chest. "If I wasn't married," he muttered before stepping away, and Justin had a sudden, wild vision, Chris and Joey, Lance and JC, himself in the middle, held down and stroked, and everything so good, every nerve on fire.

Then something slick and hard touched him, and his eyes slammed shut. JC was hoisting him up, hands firm on his hips, and then sliding him down the wall, easing him to the floor. Justin's leg was up and over JC's shoulder before he had time to catch his breath, and he was arching up, up, desperate to feel it as he worked his hand between their bodies, stroking himself frantically. JC leaned forward to kiss him again, and when he pushed in shallowly, he tasted of everything Justin had ever wanted. 

"God, god," Justin groaned, his hips bucking to meet JC's. JC licked at his open lips and pulled nearly all the way out, readjusting his grip and shoving in again, a slightly different angle that Justin could feel in his bones. His head thrashed to the side as JC picked up a rhythm, and through the red haze of his vision, he could see Lance and Chris just a few feet away, Lance pushing Chris to his back and Chris capitulating, bending willingly, his legs parting as Lance worked his way between them.

"You love this, you love this," JC whispered, his breath coming faster, and Justin could only look at him now, the light in his eyes and the fall of his hair as he fucked into Justin, steady and hard and he was right, Justin did love it, he adored it, he lived for this feeling, the electric thrill, the power, the good and filling feeling, and his hand tightened on his cock as he felt it rise within him.

"Come on, baby," JC groaned, "my god, you're so gorgeous, I wish you could see yourself how I see you." He thrust again, and again, his cock full and solid inside Justin's body, and Justin's back lifted off the floor when JC hit deep and just  _stayed_  there, grinding perfectly. Justin's hand spasmed and his cock jerked, and that was it, he was coming, the tears of release leaking from the corners of his eyes as the whitehot sensation coursed through his veins, and the world simply exploded in a sparkle of light and noise. JC pushed forward once more, his hand gripping Justin's thigh, and he cried out, high-pitched, strangled, satisfied. 

His body stayed tense, unmoving over Justin's, until Justin reached up and pulled him down, holding him tight to his chest, his lips moving ceaselessly over JC's face. Justin was aware of Chris and Lance, still moving together in a frantic rhythm, about to come apart any second. He was aware of Joey over by the corner, grinning broadly, his palm rubbing shamelessly over his groin, but really, Justin couldn't care about anything but JC's warm weight at the moment.

"I loved that," he said dizzily, wanting JC to know, forgetting that he already did. "I think . . ."

JC pressed a kiss to Justin's neck. "I think so too."

********************

"I don't believe this."

"Believe it, Princess." Chris shrugged, motioning for Joey to unsling the pack of provisions and drop it at Lance's feet. Joey smiled sheepishly at Lance as he complied, but Lance didn't return the smile, narrowing his eyes and glaring. The indignant flush of the Marshal's face was endearing, really, and his eyes glinted angrily. He should get angry more often, Chris thought. It was a good look on him. "So there you go, everything you'll need and more - I think Justin even packed you a book or two, wasn't that nice of him?"

"I  _helped_  you. You captured me and I  _helped_  you, and you're just leaving me here." Lance gestured about himself. Chris took a look around - it didn't seem that bad to him. The class II planet was mild and temperate, an abundance of trees and sweet, waving grasses. Looked like a paradise world to him. Plus, it was only a parsec or two from the nearest Confederacy outpost, so someone would be along within a week. Within a few days, probably, and they were leaving Lance more than enough food and water, even blankets, which Chris considered more than generous.

"I'd let Joey take you back to Lighthead like he wanted, but once you're out of my hands, your parole is forfeit. I can't have you tracking the Bensonhurst's signature trail back to me."

"I wouldn't-"

"Wouldn’t you?"

"No." Lance looked Chris steadily in the eye. "I wouldn't track Joey. You're the one I track, Kirkpatrick." 

Chris smiled, despite himself. You could take the man out of the Academy, but you couldn't take the Academy out of the man. "My word on it, Marshal, I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Are we leaving or what?" Justin called from beyond the docking ramp. "This sector is so incredibly boring, I never want to come back!" Joey raised an eyebrow.

"He's really always like that, huh?"

Chris nodded. "Sometimes more so, if you can credit it."

"Credit it . . . damn, Chris, speaking of that-" Joey looked shame-faced. "I wish I could compensate you, for your time if not for your services."

"Joe, I'm offended you'd even mention it." Chris waved a hand. "It was like old times, except with more of the near-death and less of the uranium. I wouldn't want to run like that all the time, but it could have turned out a sight worse, and not much better." He looked over his shoulder, back to where JC was kneeling in the grass by the ship's side, trying to coax a ground-mole out from its burrow. "You have no idea how handy a Parilipath's going to be."

"I think I have an idea," Joey laughed. Chris grinned. Well, maybe he did, at that.

"Well, before Justin gets into a snit and decides to fly off without his captain, I'd best take my leave." He wrapped Joey in a hug, pounding him on the back. "You old bastard, I'd better be hearing from you. Secure connections all around, I want to hear that daughter of yours too."

"You can count on it," Joey agreed. He extended his hand to Lance, who looked at it for a second before reaching out and clasping it. "Lance, best of luck to you. And don't be forgetting our conversation in the hold." Chris wondered what that meant; whatever it was, it flushed Lance's face all over again, and Chris took a moment to admire it.

"It'll bear thought, I'll grant you that much," Lance admitted, giving Joey a respectful nod. "And you'll catch no heat from the Confederacy for your dalliance with outlaws. Under the circumstances, you were caught off-guard. Or so the report will read."

"Good man," Joey murmured. He gave Chris one last grin. "A better man than he knows. We're all better men than we know." And he was off towards his ship, striding across the tall grasses, bending to bid farewell to JC as he passed.

"Mayhap we are, at that," Lance mused, picking the pack of provisions off the ground. "I'll maintain hope that the next time I see you, Kirkpatrick, you'll be a better man yet."

"What makes you think you're going to see me again? I plan to stay far out of the TC's reach from now on, you can wager."

Lance only smiled, hefting the pack over his shoulder. "Oh, I wager you plan on it. That I don't doubt. But I'll find you again, and when I do, I expect you to be better prepared." To Chris' surprise, he extended his own hand. Chris clasped it in his own, feeling the warmth of Lance's grip, the smooth touch of his skin, holding it for perhaps a second longer than necessary.

"Oh my god, can we get this heap of rusty bolts airborne? We've been grounded too long lately; let's hit space!" Justin hollered again, and Chris nodded at Lance.

"Till next time then, Marshal, and better prepared we'll both be." He swung around and headed for the ship, where JC had already joined Justin in the cargo hold. Chris walked up the ramp and hit the retractor. He looked over at JC and Justin, heading up the stairs towards the common space, and smiled. It was a good crew. He could fly this way.

He jogged up the stairs and into the cockpit. Justin was already in the co-pilot's seat, with JC perched on the arm, looking up when Chris paused next to them. Chris looked at their smiling faces, and couldn't resist leaning down to kiss Justin. He gave JC just as sound a kiss next, warm and open and delicious. Justin's arms tightened around JC's waist, and he grinned up at Chris when Chris released JC and flung himself into the pilot's seat. JC leaned back into Justin, his eyes dancing with pleasure and confidence.

"Chris, tell me, they don't really call you the space cowboy, do they?"

"Well," Chris said, powering up the navigational matrix for Centauri sector, "not to my face. But tales of my daring exploits are spread far and wide . . ."

********************


End file.
